


Broken Promises

by 21citrouilles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Coming of Age, Developing Relationship, Escape, Established Relationship, F/M, Love, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/21citrouilles/pseuds/21citrouilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story spanning almost a decade, mostly from Sansa Stark's point of view. While part of it is San/San, it is mostly her story.</p><p>Sansa Stark has help escaping from Littlefingers at the Eyrie. Everything is not as it seems and there will be some unexpected twists...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Maid

I had had a new maid in my service, a quite tall and fine featured Lorathi young woman with long hair half white, half dark red, named Lara. I found it odd that Petyr had not apprised me of this – but I knew that it was his way of only telling me what he wished me to know. He always had some intricate plan behind everything that he did.

Petyr was to be away for at least a month; first to King’s Landing and then on his way back to Gulltown to strengthen his alliances. He had no fear at leaving me for so long – I wouldn’t try to escape, as where would I go? Although the Queen had lost the regency and had been cast away to Castlerock, stripped of all her powers, there were still many scavengers looking for me, everyone wanting either a handsome ransom for me or my claim to Winterfell, as the remaining living Stark.

The new maid had started on the day Petyr had left and I had thought of asking the head housekeeper about this change but I grew to like her so much that I found this detail unimportant. While sometimes she looked at me with her long pale grey eyes like she was appraising me, I couldn’t complain; except for this unsettling habit, she was very courteous, was always smiling, had a delicate touch with her hands and spoke in an odd foreign way which enchanted me.

Also, she would tell me a different tale every night as I lay under the covers, as my old nan used to do when I was a child - except that her tales were not scary like nan’s. They were wonderful stories about far away, mysterious lands across the Narrow Sea; about magic, wizards, fabled courtesans and rich merchants. I started to look forward each day to hear another one in the evening. She had a soft, soothing voice and I had asked her once why she worked as a maid when she seemed so refined and cultured. A smile had played on her lips as she answered.

“A woman is a traveller, taking many guises in her journeys.”

“Have you travelled very far?”

“From Braavos to the Slaver’s Bay, sailing the Jade Sea to Asshai and the Shadow Lands. She has crossed the Dothraki Sea also. Many unbelievable things she has witnessed.”

“Oh!” I had clapped my hands in delight. While I was sure that I would never be daring enough to travel like this, seeing the images that her words conveyed filled me with excitement: I could smell exotic scents, gaze at opulent palaces, see hooked nosed men going about furtively in a dark eastern alley. I went to sleep every night dreaming about adventure.

Then one night as I was waiting impatiently for another tale, she squatted near the head of my bed, her face quite near mine and my heart gave a start.

“No story tonight, my lady. A proposition a woman has to offer instead.” She was whispering. I was growing uneasy by how close her face was and her words. “A lady would like to escape, leave this castle, yes? This woman could help, my Lady of Stark.”

I startled in fear, opening my mouth to scream. _How could she know?_ A surprisingly strong hand landed on my mouth while she stilled my struggles with the other one. My heart was then pounding madly.

“Ssshhhh,” she soothed. “A woman means you no harm. A lady will not scream and alert others. Carefully laid plans would be ruined. A lady gives her word that she remains quiet.”

I nodded and she removed the hand. I straightened up my position in the bed, looking at her with widened eyes, suddenly understanding.

“You’re a spy,” I hissed. “A Lannister spy who would deliver me to them so they could have my head.”

She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “No, no. A woman is many things but not a spy and the Lannister House is very weak now, with the former queen in disgrace and both her brothers vanished. A lady has friends who wish her to be freed, to live in a faraway place where she could be safe, out of the reach of such as Littlefingers and the Lannisters.” She spat the names with disdain.

“Even so, how can I trust you? You could say anything to entice me. You could even have been instructed by Petyr to approach me like this so he could test my loyalty.”

“He wouldn’t do this, as he’s quite certain of having cowed the Lady to do his bidding. Yes?”

“I need more; something that will prove the truth of your words.”

She leaned over me, a hand stroking my hair tenderly. “A woman knows a story. About a rare litter of direwolf pups - six of them for six of the Stark children, including the bastard son, Jon Snow. The white one, named Ghost, for Jon; Grey Wind for Robb, Lady for Sansa, Nymeria for Arya, Shaggydog for Rickon and the last one, Summer, for Bran. Ghost is with Jon Snow at the Wall; Lady was killed by Ned Stark on the order of the queen, Arya made Nymeria disappear, afraid that her wolf would be killed too, Grey Wind was killed along with Robb and the fate of the others is unknown.”

I could feel myself starting to tremble. “Only members of my family know that... And they’re all dead!”

“Not all, it would seem. One is alive, the one who has disappeared.”

“Arya....” I whispered.

“The name must not be said inside these walls. The Lady will think on this, but not too long, as Lord Baelish will return soon from Gulltown. Just say the word, and a woman will take care of everything.”

She kissed me on the forehead and left.

I had lain awake for hours after she had left, agitated thoughts churning in my mind _... It must be Arya; she must be free and in a safe place and is sending for me..._ But how could my sister, a girl younger than I, have managed to accomplish all of that? Where was she? Surely not at Winterfell; it was still in the hands of the Ironmen. Could I believe this Lara?

I was used to things promised to me and then being withdrawn with Petyr. I had been lured to him with a promise of returning home and ended up instead at the Eyrie with him, Sweet Robin and my aunt Lysa, whom he had wed shortly after our arrival. Both were dead now; when the snows had melted, Petyr had wanted us to move back up to the Eyrie again, but dims memories of his mother being pushed off the Eye of God had become alive again and Sweet Robin grew panicked at the idea of returning there. When we had begun the ascent, nothing could calm him and lessen his increasing shakes, resulting in a fit so bad that it killed him.

Then no more was said about moving back in the Eyrie. We stayed in the ground castle.

In the past Petyr had spoken of a marriage contract between with Harry Hardyng, heir to the Wainwoods, but that had never come to be. He probably had reflected further on it and was still working on a better alliance for me... He had also said that one day he would have me dressed with my House’s colours and sigil and that young lords would fight to claim Winterfell for me... But I knew that all this scheming was not for me, never for me – I was just a pawn he manipulated to further his reach and ambitions in what he called the Game of Thrones.

My safety had hung on a thread – of playing the role of Alayne Stone, his bastard daughter to our visitors – always fearing that somebody would recognise me and know my true identity. I had become Alayne, melting my true self into her, molding every gesture and feelings to this role, even in private, so I wouldn’t betray myself.

Both of us were playing another role in private; he of the affectionate, devoted father and I his loving daughter; being submissive, obeying his every wish, never arguing; always reflecting the feelings I thought that he wished me to express; lying and keeping him convinced that I believed his lies, as however I knew that his kindness was contrived, I didn’t want to get a glimpse of what lay beyond this mask.

Lately it had become harder and harder to pretend... At first, he had often asked me to kiss him as to show my loving feelings toward him and later things had progressed gradually to lingering touches, caresses which grew bolder, then visits to my room in the night... He had said that fathers did this with their daughters, that it was a natural way of showing their love; of course I knew this to be untrue, as my Lord father had never visited my chamber at night. Still I had tolerated it because it was his will, and often my chest and abdomen would grow very tight with strong emotions, a desire to scream loudly which I fought in a growing panic to suppress. While my maidenhead was still intact, I had lost all the innocence of a maiden.

I was growing older also, and my cage, as the Hound would have said, was getting even more confining and I was suffocating in it. These weeks without him had provided a much needed relief, but it only made me feel more dread at his return.

One morning, as I gazed outside my window, fingering the curtains idly, Lara must have felt my coming near to a decision as she came to stand beside me silently. She lowered her head.

“Say the word, whisper it in my ear.”

I flushed and murmured a yes in her ear. A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips, and she kept her head lowered to whisper a reply in my ear.

“A raven will be sent soon to the one who will escort you to Saltpans, where a ship will await.”

“But...” I signaled for her to turn her head. “But the way across the mountains is very dangerous, inhabited with the Mountain Men. They will attack us. Wouldn’t it be safer and shorter to go to Gulltown?”

“No. A woman reminds the lady that Lord Baelish will be there. It is more prudent to put distance between him and you. A messenger has been sent to Shagga, whose clan the Imp hired for a battle. He gave them gold and new weapons, and they remember that. They were told that Lord Tyrion is returning to Westeros with a proof of his innocence and that his Lady wife, who was kept in hiding to ensure her safety, is making the journey to join him in Saltpans. Not wanting to displease him, they agreed to escort you through the mountains, keeping you safe until you meet the one who will accompany you the rest of the way.”

I was surrounded by the scent in Lara’s hair, which smelled like some sweet spicy incense and felt her lips move against my ear, making me shiver. The fragrance and intimacy of our being so close to another was having a strange effect on me, making me a bit dizzy and I pulled away to regain my composure. I kept my head turned, unable to look at her in the face, a flush warming my skin.

“The time to leave will be on the morrow. Behave normally,” she said, still whispering.

She put a hand in a pocket and removed from it a small leather purse full of coins, pressing it into my hands.

“Keep this safe and well hidden.”

I nodded my assent and she had gone silently, I opened the purse, astonishment widening my eyes as I discovered that all the coins were gold dragons. How could a maid have gold in her possession, when I didn’t even have copper coins to spend? But she was no ordinary maid, as I had found out.

This was one of the longest days of my life, as the full impact of what I was about to attempt hit me with growing fear. I would think that everybody I met in the castle would hear my quickly beating heart, could read on my face my feelings and plans. Anything could go wrong with the plan, although I refused to consider how things could spoil and what would be the consequences. Something had changed irrevocably by my assent to this and I already felt part of me gone from the castle. My long practice of hiding my true feelings helped me to keep all of my wits about me.

On that night, Lara brought bottles and scissors and I frowned when she put them on a small table.

“A Lady is known for her long brown hair. It will be changed. When the hair grows back, it will be no different than her natural colour. The dye is the exact shade as the Lady’s roots.”

It had been tiresome to have to dye the growing roots regularly as they betrayed my natural hair colour and I was glad that I would not have to do it anymore.

She washed my hair several times to remove as much as possible of the brown dye; then after the new dye had been applied and had taken she washed it again and rinsed it with rose scented water. Then she cut it at a length between my chin and shoulders with also a fringe covering my forehead. I was sitting in front of a mirror, and as Lara dried it and combed it I marvelled at seeing my true hair colour again and how surprisingly the shorter length was flattering, making me look older and more sophisticated. I squealed in joy and squeezed one of her hands.

“Tonight, go to bed very early, as a woman will come wake you at the witching hour.”

She resumed behaving as if nothing out of the ordinary would happen, giving me another story as I lay tucked in my bed, but even her words couldn’t distract me that night. I slept fitfully, waking up in starts, my heart pounding. After hours of this, I became wide awake as soon as she entered my room in the dark, carrying a small lamp with her.

I removed my nightshift and dressed with the woolen hose, shift and dress that she had laid out for me; put on boots and a heavier cloak.

“Warmer clothes are needed. The nights in the mountains are very cold,” she said in a low tone, then signaled to me when I was done.

“Silence and calm are needed, as haste will attract attention.”

She took my hand in hers, a bigger one with long slim fingers and pulled me out of the room.

I had never been up at this time of the night. The halls of the castle were eerily silent and dark; their features emerging like ghostly forms from the glow of the lamp that Lara held before her. I could hear some faraway snores as we made our way through corridors. She was moving with a feline grace like a nocturnal hunter and I tried to walk as silently as possible on the tip of my toes. We descended a stairway which led us to a rougher stone wall, the pungent smells of the stables already reaching us.

The door to the stables creaked as Lara opened it, making me startle and she turned around quickly to put a finger on her mouth. I nodded nervously.

I rarely went to the stables as I couldn’t abide the strong stink of manure and horses in an enclosed space but for once it didn’t bother me. The deep breathing of resting horses was soothing as we walked to the other end of the big room. Lara released my hand and put the lamp on the surface of a table. I leaned on a wall for a moment to rest and calm my panting breath. She was looking at me with an inscrutable expression and it was then I realised that I wouldn’t see her again. I felt something pinch painfully in my chest.

“A man will come shortly to guide you. No conversation can be had with him – he was chosen for this reason, as mute men can’t betray secrets.”

“Please come with us!” I said impulsively. “I know that it’s a lot to ask and that the way is dangerous, but your presence has given me such comfort... I will treat you very well.”

She sighed and shook her head sadly. “A woman regrets but she cannot. She has to attend to other duties.”

“Oh...” I was suddenly feeling so sad that I inclined my head to hide it from Lara, afraid that she would find me very childish in reacting this way. Everybody who had cared about me and whom I had cared about was dead; I had felt so lonely and grown very attached to her in a short time and now couldn’t bear to lose a...friend.

One long finger touched my chin and raised it, forcing me to look up at her. She was smiling tenderly at me, her fingers stroking my hair gently, her face lowered. I had a strange, giddy feeling that I was on the brink of something wonderful to happen. But she let out a long sigh and kissed my hair before grasping my hood and adjusting it on my head.

“Who are you?” I asked breathlessly.

“No one. Farewell, my Lady of Stark.”

She turned her back abruptly and vanished in the dark space.


	2. The Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT
> 
> The views expressed about homosexuality in this tale are not my own but those of people living in medieval times.

A few minutes after I heard the creak from the opening of the stables’ door and peeked from my hiding place at who was coming, deathly afraid that it would be someone else risen early to start their duties in the stable.

It was a big burly man with a long beard and rough features. He was carrying a torch, his gaze circling the space as he walked slowly. I had no idea who it could be – a man from the household, my escort? It was the hardest thing for me to come out from behind the wall and show myself to him. The rustle of fabric made his head turn around and when he saw me he nodded, signaling me to follow him outside of the stables.

As promised, two horses were standing ready, tethered to a post. The man untied both of them, bringing me a mare whose saddlebags were bulging with supplies. I mounted and followed him at a brisk pace to the Bloody Gate, where another man was standing guard. As he was making an enquiry about our presence there at this hour, my escort unsheathed his knife and slit his throat. It was done so quickly, without warning; only the sound of a gurgle barely breaching the deep silence.

Mother of us all... I hadn’t expected that, although I could see that it was inevitable. The guard wouldn’t have let us through and would have sounded the alarm. As it was, he was lying on the ground, his sightless eyes and bloody throat opened to the black skies. I just hoped that this escape of mine wouldn’t cost more lives.

The man raised the portcullis and we were out pass the Gate. After this, the pace increased and we were riding at breakneck speed on the dark road, his torch revealing the way a few feet at a time. How could he make his way with that little light? It was scary enough for me just to try following him.

I looked behind once but couldn’t see the looming shape of the Eyerie as the night was still inky.

The ride lasted for hours, and I was grateful that I had kept up with my riding and still had strength and skills. They certainly would be needed for the long journey ahead.

Dawn had come and gone. As we slowed down at a clearing near a copse of trees, the sun was rising, creating veils of dazzling light on a group of men who were breaking camp. They were all big with weather beaten faces and long beards and hair of different colours; dressed in rough clothes topped by furred vests. One separated himself from the others and advanced toward us, looking up with a surly expression. I swallowed and almost strangled; my throat being so tight with new fears.

But I knew that this was not the time to show them fear and break down; everything hinged on the first impression these men would get of me and it would set the way I would be treated on this journey. I had to become the highborn Lady that I truly was once again.

I pulled the hood down and some gasped.

“Greetings, Shagga of the Mountain Men. I am Sansa Stark, formely of Winterfell, wife to Lord Tyrion Lannister. I am grateful for the escort provided by you and your men through the mountains so I can finally rejoin my beloved husband after years of separation. I am ready.”

I held my head high and tried to smile to show how I was looking forward to the reunion with my husband. While I felt guilty about deceiving these men, who had been treated unfairly often enough by those they called the low land lords, I knew that, had I met them without these arrangements, they would have captured me and taken their turns with me. With that thought in my mind I raised my chin while he held my gaze with his unflinching one. After a few moments he nodded and grunted his assent. I hid a sigh of relief.

I was very glad though that this story was untrue, as I had no wish to meet Tyrion again. After the wedding, he had tried to be kind and patient with me but I had never warmed up to him, as he was a Lannister and I had also been repulsed by his stunted and malformed body. While his guilt in the poisoning of the King has always been murky, his killing of his father and the whore in his quarters as he has escaped had been indisputable. Petyr had told me that the woman was Shae, my maid and Tyrion’s mistress. Even though Tyrion looked small and defenceless, he had been able to strangle Shae most effectively. I remembered on our wedding night how he had looked at me with his odd coloured yes, the dark one burning with fury. This had hinted at what lay behind his usually witty and sarcastic manners and I shuddered now at what he would do to me if our paths ever crossed again.

My escort waved at me with his upraised arm as he turned around and left, galloping on the road and disappearing soon at the horizon. I waited until the group of men had finished packing and wordlessly let them surround me as we began the ride through the mountain road.

 

**ooooooo**

 

I found out to my dismay that my thoughts dwelled on Lara on this first day of the journey; my sense of loss at her having gone from my life... I wondered if this was because nobody practically spoke to me, that the way was arduous... Or that because I had been friendless for so long that I had grown absurdly attached to her. My mind kept returning to that moment in the stables, when she was standing close to me. While nothing had happened, I had been sure that she was going to kiss me... and the Gods forgive me, I would have welcomed it!

It made me think of Loras Tyrell, the young knight whom I had become so enamored of years before. I had kept wishing and hoping that he would be the one Tyrell that I would marry, not his older brother Willa.

In her last endeavours, queen Cersei had sent him leading an attack on Dragonstone as to weaken Stannis Baratheon in conquering his stronghold. Unfortunately, Loras had been burned badly by boiling oil, and I had been heartbroken when Petyr told me the news, weeping disconsolately.

He must have grown impatient at my unceasing tears, as he had said sharply: “It was stupid of Cersei to send someone so young and unseasoned for this attack.”

“But he was a true knight, the most promising one of his generation!” I had protested.

He’s scoffed. “Was he? I don’t think so. Were he a true knight, he should have tried to save you from Cersei and Joffrey. Instead, he went off to a battle he was unprepared for in search of glory, so his name could be sung about for decades. Now, he is so badly burnt that the Hound would look pretty in comparison to him. No more maidens will swoon in delight at his sight. Not even you.”

It had made me cry even more. A cold expression came on Petyr’s fine features, making me shiver. “My dear daughter, even were he not of the Kingsguard, he couldn’t have been your husband in a satisfactory way. He was only attracted to his own kind.”

“His own kind...?” I let my words trail, bewildered.

A thin smile of satisfaction appeared on his lips. “Why, men of course. Didn’t you know?”

My mouth had opened in shock, effectively stopping my tears for the moment.

Every time that I had thought I was growing more mature and less naive, Petyr would say something that would make my heart sink in consternation at the depth of my ignorance. Nobody had told me that this kind of thing existed, an attraction between two of the same gender. Was it because it was so forbidden that my parents and septa had never known of such things? But then, they must have known, as Petyr knew and certainly others at court knew because they had told him about Loras’ tendencies; this couldn’t be hidden from servants too... Had my parents kept me ignorant as not to despoil my innocence? I certainly had been _innocent,_ as I had never conceived of it in my mind. The knowledge had horrified me; balking me from imagining two men in bed and what they could do together... Loras giving me a flower at the Hand’s tournament had been an empty gesture, I knew that, but then I wondered if this had been not only to follow the customs of gallantry but also to hide his true preferences? Now I understood his not remembering me, his indifference to me and females, when I thought of it. Still, it had been hard to bury my dreams about him.

Remembering this only exacerbated my present torment, as I kept wondering if I had the same ... tendencies. But I had been in love with Loras and he was a _man._ However, I couldn’t deny how drawn I felt to Lara, how I had wished to feel her lovely lips on mine, to taste them... But this couldn’t be... it was _sinful..._ What would my parents think if they were alive! Then I felt sure that I had imagined her _wanting_ to kiss me in my overwrought state and that these feelings for her were the natural results of being very _grateful_ for the one who had been the first to treat me with consideration and kindness in years.

 _This is it,_ I thought. And why should I torture myself? She was gone.

At night as we made camp, I was so exhausted from the grueling long ride and my emotions that I wasn’t even scared about anticipating some of the men maybe trying to prey on me. I fell asleep as soon I lay down in my bedroll, enjoying a deep dreamless sleep.

On the next day I rose a bit sore but well rested. As we resumed our journey, I thought that I could have enjoyed the beauty of this region; the breath taking views of the hazy mountain tops in the morning and the cold, pure air, if I hadn’t been feeling so uneasy in the company of these rough, primitive looking men. We had nothing in common; our ways of live so dissimilar that we could have been born on different worlds. But they had kept their words and nobody had tried to approach or touch me.

I was relieved that Lara had packed enough supplies for the journey and that I didn’t have to rely on these men for food.

I was also plagued with other worries and bewilderments, about my future meeting with Arya. I still couldn’t understand why she would have sent for me; we had never gotten along as sisters. I had found her quite an unsatisfactory one in the past, so unladylike and impudent. She had even gotten a sword from Jon and taken lessons with a swordsmaster, of all the things to do... But most troubling to me were the memories of how we had lost our direwolves; how I had lied to show loyalty to my betrothed. Arya had to send hers away as to spare her the same fate as befell Lady and she had never forgiven me for that and my lies. We had grown further apart and I had continued to behave meanly to her, almost uncaring about her disappearance and fate after our father had been arrested.

I was sure that having been in my place she would never have been as docile and submissive as I had been; she would have protested and revolted, regardless of the consequences; she would have been brave, not a coward as I.

Two days of riding followed after this. There were no signs of pursuit, although I had doubted there would be any. Petyr was probably still in Gulltown and even if my disappearance had been discovered, his men would be loath to take action on their own and send a search party through this dangerous region. They’d certainly sent a raven to Gulltown to apprise Petyr of this and he would return in haste to the castle.

We had seen once in a while small groups of the Mountain Men peer at us and withdraw as they recognized Shagga and the men of his clan. Once more, I was very grateful at how well my escape had been planned. I wouldn’t have survived one day on the road without the help of Shagga’s clan.

To my great surprise, I found that the Alayne Stone persona was quickly fading away, like an old skin a serpent would have shed. I couldn’t return to the old Sansa Stark, the little girl who loved knights but I sensed a newer self emerging; stronger and braver, I hoped.

On the fourth at midday, we stopped at another copse of trees and I looked at Shagga with questions in my eyes.

“This is it, lady; the end of the mountain road. Now, we wait for your new escort.”

“Oh. Will you know him by sight?”

He laughed. “Aye. His face is known through the realm. We’ll know when he comes.”

He was gazing at me with a new respect in his eyes. I had followed orders, hadn’t uttered a peep of complaint at the hard pace and at lying down on the hard ground at night, trying to keep warm in my warm layers of clothes and the thick bedroll.

While we waited silently, I wondered who my escort would be; at how renowned he seemed to be. He must also be a formidable fighter, as it had been judged that only one man was needed to keep me safe for the rest of the journey.

It didn’t take long to hear the sound of hoof beats coming up on the road south of us, approaching slowly, almost leisurely. Shagga and his men grasped their weapons and moved out of the copse with I following them. A black warhorse appeared, mounted by a big and tall man with a monk’s brown hooded cloak.

Everybody kept still as the hooded rider stopped, watching as he carefully pulled down his hood. Satisfied grunts of recognition erupted and as I came closer to see. When I did spy him, my eyes almost popped out of their sockets and I couldn’t stifle my shocked scream. My heart beat like a caged animal in my chest.

No, it couldn’t be! This was a ... _specter._

Without thinking I kicked my horse and galloped away as fast as I could. 

 

**ooooooo**

 

I could hear the fading sounds of the Mountain Men’s coarse laugher as I rode away.

And closer, the sounds of hoof beats from the rider who was pursuing me and soon would overtake me. While I knew this was inevitable, I still tried to evade him.

He had caught to me and was riding ahead, turning around at my approach. I was forced to slow down and as his glove covered hand seized one rein, my mare neighed and reared in panic at the proximity to his horse. I managed to calm her with soothing words and looked up at his face; a terrible half burned face with angry grey eyes and a hard mouth. The Hound!

“What did you think you were doing, you little fool?” he was snarling. “You could have broken your neck!”

“What are you doing here?” I asked as imperiously as I could.

He sneered. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be your escort, pretty bird.”

“But... I thought that you were dead!” I exclaimed inanely.

“They were wrong. I’m very much alive as you can see. Now, stop this,” he added as I was trying to free myself and the mare from his grasp. “You’ll go with me.”

“But I don’t want to!” I replied sullenly.

“No choice, I’m afraid. Or else, we could always rejoin this nice group of men and ride back to the Eyrie. I could deliver you to Littlefinger for a fat purse. What do you think?”

I sighed helplessly and turned my head. I knew that I was beaten and felt terrified and frustrated at the same time. Had I known that this was the man ‘they’ had hired to escort me, I would have refused. There was no doubt that this was the best man to protect and keep me safe, but who would protect me from him? While I had missed his presence at the Red Keep after he had left and later at the Eyrie, often wondering what had been his fate, I also remembered how scared of him I had been and still was.

“If you hurt me, I’ll tell –“

“Who will you tell? Those from across the Narrow Sea who sent for you? Will take some time for them to come and save you from me, won’t it though? Now, enough. There is no time to waste. Come.”

I did as bid. We rode through a changing landscape, leaving the mountains behind us and entering the flatter ground of the Riverlands. The weather was getting warmer and damper. I could smell a hint of salt in the air.

We soon stopped as we were nearing a small town, drinking from the waterskins. It took all of my courage to start speaking.

“I... would like to stop at an inn, so I could take a bath and sleep in a bed, if it pleases you my lord.”

“Oh, the bird longs for her comforts? Aye, I could do too with a feather bed.”

“Se... separate rooms, please.”

He exploded in loud guffaws of laughter and I flushed darkly, avoiding his mocking gaze. We then rode for the town, finding an inn on its outskirts. The Hound covered his head with the hood and I did the same, following him hesitantly as he spoke to the innkeeper and rented two rooms. I felt my body losing some of its tension at the relief, thinking that maybe I would be safe after all.


	3. The Specter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable happens, what the years have been building up to.

He brought out our bags of supplies for each of our rooms, carrying them all as if they weighted nothing. A bath had been ordered for both of us and soon a serving girl came in my room, carrying buckets of hot water and managing to fill the wooden tub in the room after several trips. I would have to change my clothes, as they were dirty and now too warm for the Riverlands. I rummaged in a bag and found two cotton gowns and thinner hose and shift. There were also some smallclothes.

After all these days of travelling, washing my hair and body, soaking in the warm water were pure luxury and I reveled in it. I felt so much better as I put on the clean garments and dried my hair. I was combing it, sitting on the edge of the bed as somebody knocked on the door. I recognized the raspy voice as it boomed behind the door.

“Supper’s is going to be served! Come down, girl.”

I hurried, putting on my cloak and the hood once again. He too had his hood on and we descended the stairs to the common room.

It was noisy and warm, filled with all kind of travellers, rough men, common women and hedge knights. I was glad about our hoods hiding our heads and a part of our faces as people were eyeing us curiously when we sat down at the end of a long table. But as they couldn’t see much of us, they soon lost interest.

We got bowls of fish stew with chunks of hot bread and started eating right away. It was my first meal of warm food for days and I was ravenous. The Hound was too, as he kept his face near his plate and shoveled the food in, asking for seconds after he was finished with his first serving. I noticed that he was only drinking water as I was, even though wine could be had and was flowing plentifully at the tables. I found that strange, as I remembered how he loved his wine and would often drink too much of it and become drunk.

“Then,” he said in a low tone of voice, after having finished his second bowl of stew. “The pretty bird didn’t like her living arrangements with Littlefinger?”

I frowned. “How did you know?”

He scoffed. “I didn’t, girl. I only learned of it when the man came and asked for my help in being your _protector.”_

“How did he find you? Everybody thought that you were dead.”

He raised his eyebrows in appreciation. “That was a fine piece of work, he having found me. Although the Elder Borther spoke some years ago to some kind of warrior maid who was searching for you and wondering about the Hound too, he never spilled the truth. He never discloses the identity of the people staying at the Quiet Isle, always saying that they are dead. To him it is true; we have been reborn to a new life, penitents who are trying to atone for our sins.” He snorted at this. Sneering again.

I couldn’t hide my astonishment. “You at the Quiet Isle? All these years?”

He grinned wolfishly. “Surprising, isn’t it? Although it wasn’t by choice, wasn’t a bad life there. Blessed peace and silence, hard work, food and shelter.”

“But how did you end up there?”

His expression darkened. “Ended up in a real bad fight at the Crossroads Inn and was left for dead on the banks of the Trident. The Elder Brother found me and managed to save my life. Had a badly infected wound on my thigh and fever; took me months to heal and I limped for a long time. I’m fine now, though.”

“And I am glad of it.”

His eyes filled with anger, making my startle and avert my face. “Are you now? Still the same damn little liar. If you’re so happy about it, why did you try to run away as soon as you saw me? Look at me,” he growled low in his throat.

But I wouldn’t, even more scared of looking at his scowling face than of disobeying him.

“Why did you accept this mission, if you dislike me so?” I asked in a small voice.

He took my chin between two hard fingers and pulled hard, turning my face in his direction. I gasped and flinched at the anger which was tensing his hard features.

“You think that I dislike you? Why would I have tried to help you then at King’s Landing if I felt this way?”

My eyes widened. I was very surprised at him admitting that he had done so, as sometimes I had thought that I was imagining this, so harshly did he treat me when I encountered him alone. I felt my heart warming.

“And I was ever so grateful for it, I was,” I blurted out. “I even tried to thank you but you wouldn’t accept it.”

“Spare me. You only thanked me because your sense of courtesy forced you to it; you never appreciated _me_ for it. I couldn’t care less about your fucking _gratitude._ ”

I could see that the years had not changed him and that he was as disagreeable as ever. I got up to leave.

“I’m sorry but I’m very tired and I want to go to my room now.”

His mouth thinned contemptuously, making me feel even more of a coward. But then his face cleared and a small smile lifted the intact corner of his mouth. He got up.

“I’m tired too and need to lie down on some nice bed.”

He got behind me as we ascended the stairs. I was longing to get away from him, to rest, to be finally alone. He was standing near me as I was beginning to unlock the door to my room and I stopped.

“Just checking that you get in your room safely,” he said breezily.

I finished unlocking the door and opened it. I felt him push me inside and saw him hit it closed with his boot. This took me so much by surprise that I stood helplessly while he easily took the key from my loose grasp and locked the door, pocketing it.

“You agreed that we would sleep in separate room,” I finally managed to say lamely.

“ _No._ I agreed to pay for two rooms, that’s all.”

“How dishonourable of you! You are a fiend... I hate you!”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Finally, some honesty!”

I knew then what would happen. Still, it didn’t prepare me for the sheer strength of his onslaught. One moment I was standing and one moment later he had pinned me to the bed, my wrists secured in his hard grasp. He was crouched over me, his long black hair falling like dark curtains on each side of my head, his features grim and hungry. I was forcibly reminded of his visit to my room at the Red Keep and the fact that he was stone sober now filled me with even more dread, as I had thought then that his terrifying behavior had only been incurred by drunkenness and battle madness.

I just had time to avert my face before he tried to kiss me. His mouth landed near my ear, fingers pushing back my hair. I could feel the tip of his tongue as he kissed the side of my neck down to my shoulder. Then he paused.

“What’s the matter, little bird? No chirping ‘ _Let me go, you’re hurting me, ser?’_ he said in a mocking falsetto tone.

That’s how I would have reacted in the past and while I felt sorely tempted to beg for mercy, I knew it would be no use. He had never listened. What was the use of crying on the dark? But when he loosened the laces on my bodice and pulled hard on the fabric to uncover my breasts, I couldn’t help it.

“No! I know of something better!”

He smirked. “What could be better for me than fucking you?”

While I was terrified, my mind had been working furiously to get me out of this predicament. If I could appeal to whatever sense of honour and decency that he had, maybe he wouldn’t go through with this.

“Not for you, but… but for me,” I replied nervously. “I demand a trial by combat.”

He laughed again but still his hand stopped the pulling. “And what would you fight me with? Your little fists?”

“A different kind of combat. With words, like a trial. And a challenge at the end, to win my favor.”

”Why should I need to win it? I have you where I want you, in bed, without anybody interfering.”

“If you won, I would be willing. On the night of the Blackwater battle, even as crazed as you were, you spared me.”

His mouth became hard, his teeth showing. “I shouldn’t have. I lived to regret it after, not having taken you. I will now, believe it. Won’t be moved by a sweet little song this time.”

Still I persisted. ”Wouldn’t you prefer me to be willing?”

He became still, his grey eyes appraising me for a long moment, his tongue working on a tooth as he reflected. Suddenly, he got up from the bed and sat down on a bench near me, long legs sprawled, watching me. I sighed in relief and rearranged my gown, moving on the bed and sitting on the edge of it, trying to regain my composure.

“Then. Explain this combat by words.”

“I will raise valid objections against the action that you want to take. You’ll have to examine them fairly. Points that we each win will get added up. If I win, you give your word that you won’t try anything. If I lose, I’ll give you a challenge at the end. If you lose it, nothing will be gained, even if you have more points.”

Even as I said it I knew that this sounded pathetic and ridiculous, but he didn’t mock me this time, just snorted.

“It seems that the game is stacked against me.”

“You have the superior physical strength.”

“True. Go on.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m having my moonblood now.

“So what? He replied indifferently.

This horrified me. “But... it’s dirty and it’s bad luck for a man to have contact with a woman’s moonblood!”

“Like it was bad luck for the king to kill a man on his nameday? Remember that? That was a good one.“

I frowned, dismayed. “But... it was true, you confirmed it yourself.”

“And you believed it?”

“Well, I thought that you always were honest.”

He was shaking his head in disbelief. “You little fool. Of course it was not true. I had to think fast for this one, for Joff to believe me so he wouldn’t have you beaten for your defying him. But now, I have to verify the truth of your statement.”

He got up and then went on his knees in front of me, lowering his face in my crotch, sniffing deeply. This shocked me. I pushed uselessly against his shoulders.

“What are doing, you beast?”

He raised his head and smirked again. “No copper smell of blood there. So you lose that one. Stop lying. It won’t work.”

He returned to the bench.

“I understand that you must have felt deprived in the monastery. But if you need a woman so badly, I noticed that there were women of ... a certain persuasion who would satisfy your needs for the right amount of gold. I would even pay for it.”

He roared in laughter. “You would? That is so precious.” He stopped laughing abruptly, his gaze boring on my chest. “But I don’t want a bloody whore. It’s you that I want.”

I sighed. This was not going well but I had managed to serve my strongest point for the end.

“I still have my maidenhead and it would be dishonorable for you to take it.”

“Think I’ve been so long with the monks that you’ll make me swallow that? You’ve been married for years to the Imp. You can’t still have it.”

“We were together shortly, maybe a month. Then the King was poisoned and Tyrion was arrested. I disappeared on the night of Joffrey’s wedding. Tyrion managed to escape and I haven’t seen him since then.”

“True enough. I heard about that, at the Crossroads Inn. But it doesn’t take a month for a bedding. Just the wedding night.

“Tyrion said that I was too young and that he would wait until I was ready but I said that I never would want to, and he accepted that.”

“The Imp accepted? Why, a whoring pig like him? Impossible.”

“He was gallant enough. And so the marriage was never consummated,” I finished triumphantly.

“What about Litttlefinger? He had a brothel. Surely he wasn’t as _gallant_ in these matters.”

“He never... bedded me... just groping - as my maidenhead was needed to make a good marriage.”

Saying this made Petyr’s face appear in front of my eyes. I could still see him as I was lying down on my bed at the Eyrie; his cold eyes gazing slowly at each part of my naked body – the smug little smile on his lips as he did so. It always made me feel dirty, like if I were a whore he was examining to judge if she a good enough body. And then he would climb on the bed and nudge my knees apart, stroking his manhood between my thighs until he released.

My distaste must have shown as Sandor’s expression changed, like if he was puzzled.

“You must have hated his ‘groping’, by the way you’re grimacing. Why? He’s comely enough.”

I had no answer to give him, as I was sure he wouldn’t understand my feelings. Then his eyes narrowed.

“But how could he marry you to someone when you were already wed?

“I was married as Sansa Stark, but not as Alayne Stone. Also he said that he would have me revealed one day as Sansa Stark and that the one who would reclaim Winterfell would become my husband. But I was starting to think that he planned to marry me as to have a direct claim to Winterfell.”

As soon as I had finished, I knew that I had made a mistake in talking too much as his eyes lit up in triumph. I cursed myself inwardly. He whistled.

“He is _ambitious._ But then he wouldn’t need you to keep your maidenhead... Sorry, little bird. You almost had me fooled on this one until you stumbled.”

I hadn’t placed too many expectations on my winning, but still I had felt a bit of hope. I sighed. “Still, there’s the challenge. Even if you have won up to now, I can still win the game.”

“What is it then?” he asked negligently, as if the prospect of it bored him.

“You have to impress me. Now, I know of your skills in battle and of your strength, so I want nothing of that. I want you to do something that will impress me so much that it will make me wish to yield to you.”

He became still. We sat in silence for a few minutes and I observed him, how his features settle into an impassive expression, his eyes half closing, breathing easily, deeply. I sensed that he was not playing for time but gathering something inside of him to prepare himself.

Then he got up and removed his cloak, folding it on one arm. Walking to the wall above the grate, he lifted the burning torch from its sconce and lowered it on his sleeve until the flames licked the fabric and it caught fire. He replaced the torch and lifted his arm while he watched the fabric burn, his face unflinching, not uttering a sound even when the flames lowered to his exposed skin; only his mouth twitching repeatedly, betraying his feelings. Then he put the thick folds of his cloak on his arm, smothering the fire quickly and efficiently. He threw the cloak on the floor and stood before me.

“Then? Impressed enough?”

I was shocked. My mouth was open and I remembered to close it. I was shaking badly. I knew how afraid he had always been of fire since his brother shoved his face in hot coals when he was a little boy. The room stank of burned fabric and singed flesh, the smoke starting to dissipate from the fresh air coming from the window.

I inclined my head. “I yield, my lord.” When I looked up, I could spy the reddened and blistering flesh on his arm. “But your arm... you need some treatment...”

“Forget about my bloody arm and come here.” He sat down on the bench, tapping the top of his big thigh. “I want a taste of you. Give me a kiss. Go on,” he added impatiently when I still didn’t move.

I walked to him and sat gingerly on his lap, my arms going around his shoulders to steady myself. Our head were almost on the same level, mine a bit higher and his was raised. I closed my eyes and lowered my mouth to his. It opened as soon as he felt my lips touch his and I darted my tongue into it, swirling, slowly stroking his. It wasn’t as I had anticipated, as his breath didn’t smell of sour wine like in the past and he tasted surprisingly good. One arm came around my waist and a hand climbed up to the back of my neck, stroking my shorn locks. He was almost passive, following my lead and pace, making satisfied sounds. I was waiting for him to pull away when he had enough. But it went on for what seemed like minutes and I had to be the one to break it, as my jaws were starting to cramp. I got up and he let me go without protest, pressing his lips together as if tasting, breathing deeply.

“That was very sweet. Although I miss your long hair, I must say that you look even prettier like this.”

I knew what I had to do then. I went to stand by the bed and started to remove my garments one by one, throwing them too carelessly on the floor near his discarded cloak, the pile growing bigger. Sandor was removing his boots and undressing slower than I was, as he stopped often to stare as each piece of discarded clothing revealed more of my body. I thought that his own body was awe inspiring; massive shoulders, large chest and flat abdomen tapering to narrower hips, long strong legs, the muscles defined, his brown skin covered by white scars and dark hair. When he was down to his smallclothes I gasped at the bulge in them.

As I sat down on the edge of the bed before lying down on it, my movements made my heavy breasts swing and bounce. In two strides he was kneeling between my legs, a big hand grasping one of my breasts and guiding the nipple into his mouth, sucking on it madly. I could feel the edge of his teeth against the sensitive flesh and tensed in fear. He felt it and removed his mouth and turned to the other one, this time gentler and kept switching from one to the other, awakening a pleasant fluttering sensation which echoed in my womanhood; his hands were grasping both of my breasts now, kneading and stroking.

He got up and lifting me, lay me down on the bed, the mattress sagging from his weight as he climbed on it. A large knee shoved between my thighs and I thought then that he was going to try to enter me right away, but his head lowered again on my body. His hands and mouth touched every inch of my body down to my toes, his own body moving nimbly for such a big man, not suffocating me with his heavy weight as I had feared. I could see though half closed eyes his dark head moving up again, his face getting close to my womanhood, his eyes narrowing in lust; his nostrils flaring as he caught its scent. I felt his fingers stroking it lightly. His voice murmured in a deep rasp.

“My, my, what a pretty little cunt you have.”

With a grunt he buried his face between my thighs and brought me closer by cupping my bottom and lifting it.

This was so different than with Petyr, this hot, hungry need. While I couldn’t understand such a depth of desire, I was affected by it, as I was feeling consumed by him, my flesh scalded, and pleasure stirring again inside. He pulled his face away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the rough gesture strangely arousing. Positioning himself between my thighs, he supported his weight with an arm while I could feel his other hand between us, grasping his manhood and pushing the hard rounded tip in my entrance.

“Open your thighs as wide as you can, it will make your cunt less tight,” he said breathlessly.

At first I just felt a surprising stretching of my flesh, then a burning, deep pain as his manhood encountered some resistance and tore through it. I arched my back and whimpered, feeling tears gather at the corners of my eyes.

Sandor’s eyes rounded in shock and he went still as the rest of his manhood slid in.

“Oh fuck...”

He groaned and lowered his face to mine, kissing my eyes and forehead while his fingers stroked my hair. This unexpected tenderness comforted me a bit and I put my arms around his shoulders, entwining my fingers in his long hair. He started to move slowly at first and I realized that while I felt that my womanhood was much stretched the pain was gone. I bent my knees for more ease and he gave deeper and faster thrusts, beads of sweat starting to appear on his back. Out of modesty I would have closed my eyes as usual, but I was fascinated by the expression on his face, his jaw tensed and his eyes squinting as if in pain; he was grunting loudly like a dying bull. Could it be that good? One hand grabbed my bottom and pressed it hard against him, his movements becoming frantic. Just as he pulled himself out of me hastily his hot seed spilled on my belly and he moaned in one long drawn out breath.

His head was inclined as he was trying to regain his breath. I wriggled from underneath him and he rolled off on his back, covering his eyes, his chest rising and falling swiftly. I took the opportunity to get up, wrapping myself in his discarded cloak. There was no screen to hide behind as in my room at the Eyrie, just the tub. I poured some water in the basin, took the chamber pot and went behind the tub, as I couldn’t bear for him to see me, feeling so ashamed and vulnerable. My bladder was full and I had to make water. As I squatted on top of the chamber pot, the warm stream irritated my tender nether parts. Then I dipped a cloth in the water, washing my sticky belly and moving it gingerly to my womanhood. As I rinsed the cloth I saw the water redden and spied more blood as I looked at the cloth after one more pass. My eyes were starting to sting. I rinsed the cloth again.

“Bring me the cloth after you’re finished. I too have blood on me,” he said in a subdued tone of voice.

I averted my gaze from him as much as I could as I made my way to the bed, putting it on his stomach and burying myself under the covers, my back turned to him. I heard the sound of the wet cloth as he was rubbing it on his manhood and cried as silently as I could; then a wet plopping sound as he threw it on the floor.

I felt him turn toward me, his warm breath on my head.

“Bloody fucking hells,” he rasped. “I should have believed you, but you lie so much and your truths so outlandish.... Still... Damn it.”

I thought that I heard regret in his voice and this made me cry harder and I gathered on myself like a tight ball for comfort. A heavy hand landed on my shaking shoulder.

“Stop crying. You’ll break what’s left of my heart.”

Powerful arms turned me around and gathered me to his body, holding me. I clutched at the hair on his chest and sniffled miserably.

“Don’t fret, pretty thing. You’ll never feel like this again. It will get better.”

He dried my face with another cloth from the nightstand with gentle touches. I felt myself settle against his body, so drained from the day and this storm of emotion that I went out like an extinguished candle.


	4. The Journey

_“Tears are not the only weapon a woman has. You’ve got another one between your legs, and you’d best learn to use it.”_ The queen had once told me.

_Have I?_

And she had never told of how sore it could make one.

I had noticed the changes in Sandor since last night; gone were the sneers, the snarling and rough talking. Instead he was nice with me, almost courteous. This was a most powerful weapon indeed to have the ability to gentle such a harsh man as him, like a magic wand.

_Spare yourself some pain girl; give him what he wants._

His old advice about Joffrey had worked better with him.

As we finished eating our breakfast, he gazed at me.

“Why do you lie so much?” he asked, not in an ungentle tone of voice.

“What are you saying?” I replied with a spark of indignation. “It was you who taught me to do it!”

“What?” His naked expression of utter puzzlement convinced me that he really didn’t understand.

“You told me to give to Joffrey what he wanted. To smile, to love him. And you saw yourself how I had come to hate him. Then; to smile when one doesn’t feel like it, to pretend to love somebody, aren’t these lies?”

He chuckled. “You’ve got me there. But still, you were already lying before, with your false little compliments.”

“Because that’s how I was brought up. A true lady must never give neither offense nor pain with her words; it is her task to be considerate to others, to make them feel at ease.”

Hearing my voice repeating these words filled me with a strange bitterness and I almost spat out my next ones. “I did it to protect myself, as not to be hurt, beaten, to prove my loyalty because my father was considered a traitor. You said that I was scared of everything, and I had every reason to. And then with Petyr my life became a complete lie. I did it so long that it has become natural as breathing.”

It felt good, saying all this, as there were no reasons anymore to keep it inside. Who would threaten and punish me here? I had escaped my jailers.

Sandor nodded and raised his eyebrows in appreciation, blessfully not saying anything.

We stopped at midday, to make water, to give the horses and ourselves a break. The day was nice and mild once again, with diaphanous wisps of white stretching in the blue sky. We sat down in a copse of trees, surrounded by all that lush greenness as we ate hard bread and drank water.

My mind had turned once again to Lara. I had been lulled by this new sense of security and that had made me talk, telling him all about her.

“I do wish she would have agreed to leave with me. I miss her,” I added, finishing.

Nothing has prepared me for how his expression turned from calm to stormy. “What the fuck do you need a maid for in the road? You’re escaping and all you can think about is your bloody maid?”

He had said that in such a cutting tone that I flinched.

“It’s not that. It’s because she was courteous and warm, such good company. She was a Lorathi, with red and white hair. I’ve never met a Lorathi before; I wonder if they are all so polite.”

His mouth hardened as he sighed through his teeth. I felt myself grow small inside at his rebuke, turning my head to hide my sudden hurt and resentment. I wanted to tell him that this was one of the reasons why I rarely spoke my mind, because when I did, I would somehow always get punished for it. But I remained silent and sullen, as I had had enough of his rough ways. That made him laugh.

“Sulk all you want. What a little girl you are.”

But still, he was brooding too and no words were spoken for the rest of our travels for that day. When we stopped in the woods for the night, I found that I had lost my hard feelings and was willing to become friendly again. Sandor built a fire and reheated the pot of soup that we had purchased from the inn. We also had sausages and cheese and it was one of the tastiest meals that I had had for a long time.

Riding all day had not helped with my soreness. He noticed my shifting uncomfortably after we had finished eating our supper and he nodded as if he understood. He filled a bowl with water, soaking a cloth in it and made me lie down on the bedroll. I looked up at alarm as he knelt beside me and he gave me a small smile to reassure me as he lifted my skirts and removed my smallclothes. He nudged my thighs apart and bent my knees, applying the cool wet cloth to my swollen womanhood, pressing lightly.

This felt so blessedly soothing that I let out a huge sigh of relief. He chuckled and lay down between my legs, soaking the cloth in the water and applying it again for several times. Then the cloth was removed and I felt something hot and equally wet taking its place; his tongue circling my folds slowly, flicking teasingly on the little pearl, then moving deeper and faster as I started to moan, my fingers digging in his hair. My flesh was so sensitive that the pleasure built quickly, becoming senseless as my first release exploded in delicious waves, making me roll my hips shamelessly.

 _How wanton I have become,_ I thought as I lay on my back, limp, Sandor’s head resting on my belly, my fingers idly stroking his hair.

After a few minutes I tapped his shoulder and sat up. He had risen too and was sitting in front of me. I noticed the bulge straining his britches. He was looking at me hungrily, almost pleadingly and guided my hand to it while he was fumbling with his laces, freeing his manhood from the cloth. It was huge and hard as it lay against his flat belly; molding my hand and fingers to it, he guided my movements with his other hand to show me how it was done. It was hot and the flesh silky in my hand; I marvelled at the feel of it and again at the sight of his face as I stroked it. I kneeled in front of him. His features were straining as the tension built and his hands were squeezing my naked bottom. One hand flew to the back of my neck and drew my mouth to his, opening hungrily, devouring as he grunted and released, and a hot burst of seed wetting and warming my fingers. Then he lifted me up and crushed me to him as he breathed gradually slower, for a long time.

We lay down for the night in the bedroll, his arm around my shoulder, my head resting on his chest, our legs entwined. He had rekindled the fire and the flames were dancing merrily, the branches crackling, little rustles as animals settled for the night and others were awakening.

“Sandor?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t drink wine anymore. Why?”

He snorted. “Got me in enough trouble in my life. It’s what almost killed in my last fight, not the blades.”

He told me about the fight at the Crossroads Inn, where he had encountered three of his brother’s men. He had been weeks without wine and had been so thirsty for it that he had gotten drunk fast, reckless about the danger. Slow because of his state, he had gotten wounded grievously and ended up dying on the banks of the Trident, saved at the last moment by the Elder Brother at Quiet isle, who had heard his cries.

“He gave me wine and this was the last cup that I had. There was wine at the monastery, but I never wanted to touch the stuff again. Lost my taste for it.”

We remained silent for a few minutes then he said: “But before we fought, one of my brother’s men said that you had married the Imp; that you had killed the King with a spell, turned into a bat winged wolf and flown out the tower’s window.”

“What kind of superstitious tale is that? I hope that you didn’t believe that.”

“No, but I always wondered what happened.”

“With the help of ser ... Dontos.” I told him how Dontos had said he would help me escape, acting like my Florian; how it had happened in the pandemonium at the wedding feast after Joffrey died. “He said that the ship would bring me home and there Lord Baelish was waiting for me. I learned that Dontos had been paid for his part in my escape and Petyr had him killed before we left.

We sailed to his hold in the Fingers; then travelled to the Eyrie where he was to wed my aunt Lysa. She knew who I was, as I look much like my mother and resented me from the first, because of the attentions Petyr would give me. She grew so jealous that once she tried to push me out of the Eye of the God, but Petyr came in time to save me and pushed her out instead.”

“What is this Eye of the God?”

“The Eyrie is six hundred feet up on a mountain, and there was a round opening on the floor of the great hall, like a door. People who were found guilty were thrown thought it regularly. And ...Petyr blamed the murder on a singer and he was executed.”

I felt so relieved at having released this secret which had lain inside me like a malevolent creature, visiting me in my dreams and reminded me of what had truly happened. Sandor sighed and kissed my hair, stroking it.

“I know that Petyr’s interest in me came about only because I reminded him of my mother, his true love. He said that before she was betrothed to my father’s brother and then later to my father, that my mother loved him so much she gave him her maidenhead. I never believed _that,_ as my mother was a lady who knew her duty.”

“I’ve met your mother. I don’t see her as fool enough to have fallen for a runt like him, however pretty he was.”

“I know that my parent’s marriage was arranged, but they grew to love one another. How could she have loved Petyr, when she had such a strong and noble man as my father?”

The days blended in one another, travelling in the daytime through the Riverlands on small roads the northern banks of the Trident. High reeds were growing on the side of the road and I could glimpse often little houses built near the river, man in rough clothes carrying wooden poles across their shoulders from which hung baskets brimming with fish. I sensed that we were nearing Saltpans as there was an increase in travellers on the road. We managed not to draw to much attention to ourselves with Sandor’s hooded monk’s cloak and my own modest one but I knew still that people would remember a pair of mysterious hooded travellers if search parties travelled here to ask questions. What reassured was that we would be long gone when they came.

And the nights would be the same. Since there were no inns in that isolated region, we made camp in a secluded spot of the outskirts of the woods. And every night I would lay naked in the bedroll, waiting, while he would finish some chores. I was discovering that my womanhood was getting used to being stretched and I felt sore no more. It was getting easier lying with him; my body was awakening to his touches and the feel of his body; experienced pleasure too, although never on a level as his, this all encompassing need to consume my body. Afterwards, I would lie quietly against him and these were the moments that I was growing to treasure, as he was always gentler, calmer, kissing the hair at the top of my head often, caressing my arms. As hungry he was for me and my body, I was, I thought, as ravenous for this tenderness and warmth. The only real affection that I remembered since we had travelled to King’s Landing – except for Lara’s - had come from my father.

The darkness that surrounded us seemed to create a mood conductive to speaking truly, to share secrets freely; knowing that the other was close but not needing to hold their gaze was so freeing.

“Sandor?” I asked one night.

“Yes?”

“What did you do, between the time your left King’s Landing and ended at the Quiet Isle?”

“You really want to know? You might not like what you hear, little bird.”

I nodded my assent against his chest.

“Not much at first. I just wandered aimlessly to the West, drinking every day, sleeping on the ground. I was careless. Then one morning men found and captured me, a band of bannerless men lead by Lord Beric Dondarrion and his companion the red priest Thoros. They had captured your sister too and she accused me of killing Mycas.”

I raised my head in alarm. “They had Arya?”

“Caught for the ransom money they could get from your family, but they treated her well, like she was part of their band. I had to go through a trial combat to prove my innocence to the Red God, and won. Unfortunately, they had taken my gold for their cause and I had nothing. I followed them for weeks, until your sister wandered out of a cave by herself and I captured her for the same reasons.”

“What! You took her?” Horrified, I struggle against him and his arms envelop me in a steel vise until I couldn’t move anymore. He waited until I had calmed down to loosen his hold.

“See? I said that you wouldn’t like it. I was desperate, stripped of everything. I never mistreated or beat her, even though she was quite annoying, always wanting to kill me, biting, kicking. We travelled to the Twins but it was too late; they had started killing the northmen and we fled. I wanted to bring her to the Eyrie so your aunt could pay for her, but it was too late in the season and the snows were blocking the passage through the mountains. So one day we came upon the Crossways Inn. She was present during the fight, helping me kill my brother’s men. Afterwards, when I thought I was done for, I asked her for mercy, but she left, saying that I didn’t deserve it.”

“She left you to die alone?” I was struck afresh with pain and disbelief, as I found this so cold and uncaring. How had Arya become like this? I stroke his hair but he shook off my hand.

“Don’t be sorry for me. I’m a scoundrel. I deserved it.”

On the next morning we rode again and stopped when Sandor spied a boat and asked its owner if take us to cross the river if he paid him. The man agreed and after Sandor had given him the necessary coin and left to embark, I tugged at his sleeve urgently, bewildered.

“Sandor, Saltpans lies further west! Why do we need to cross the River?”

“To reach Maidenpool, of course,” he replied matter of factly.

“I thought we were supposed to go to Saltpans for the ship...”

He shook his head in negation. “Not what I was instructed to, when I got the message from the raven.”

“But, it was not what I was told! Why would it change?”

“How the fuck would I know?” he growled, growing impatient with my persistence. “I just do as I’m told.”

“Oh.” Then he bid me curtly to follow him, as we embarked on the boat, Sandor guiding to horses on it, tending to them until they settled down. When he came back to join me at the railing, he had lost his irritation and put an arm around my shoulders. Hesitantly, I put my arm across his waist, and we gazed at the water as the boat moved, a slight breeze ruffling our hair.

I had calmed too. What did it matter, this town or the other? I thought that I must have heard wrong. In fact, I realised that I wasn’t unhappy; that I hadn’t experienced this state for so long and I settled against him in content, my hand giving a small squeeze to his flank. Soon, we would sail away far from here and I would never see anybody from the court and the Eyrie...

One again we slept outside that night, in a little clearing in the woods.

On that night I felt curiously happy. I was skipping barefooted in the grass in my shift, carefree as a girl under his bemused gaze. I jumped on a flat rock and he frowned, steadying me with his hands.

“Careful, you’ll hurt yourself,” he scolded, frowning.

Perched on the rock, I was almost of a height with him, gazing his grey eyes, smiling. I put my arms around his neck and kissed his lips in short little bursts. As I pulled my face away I spied an expression that I had never seen; his face was softened and he was smiling. I kissed him again, the tip of my tongue outlining his lips, even the burnt corner where he didn’t feel much sensation. I plunged my tongue in his mouth in a bolder way than usual, exploring deeper, and he moaned. He lifted the hem of my shift, his hands grabbing my bottom, my hips and torso and caressing them as if they were the things that he most wanted to touch in the world. Then he lowered down and opened my thighs, getting his face between them, his mouth and breath warm and intimate in the cool evening’s air.

My legs were wobbling and he lifted me up like a child, lowering himself slowly on the ground with I lying full length on top of him. I discovered that I was enjoying this position; as he seemed powerless and at my mercy underneath me. I kissed him again and stroked his hair while his hands impatiently pulled up my nightshift, roaming over my skin, grabbing my naked bottom, fingers burying themselves in the valley that cleaved it, probing, stroking.

I raised myself and kneeled down to remove the nightshift and he immediately grabbed my breasts and stroked them.

“Put it in,” he rasped in a low tone. “Fuck me senseless.”

He unlaced his britches, freeing his swollen manhood. I repositioned myself over him, guiding him slowly in me, smiling at him, while a voice in my head was scolding at how wanton I was becoming. The sensations came differently in this way; sharp and strong and I ground my hips harder. I moved faster and clutched at his shoulders. This excited him so that he started to shake, giving mighty thrusts, his eyes closed and head thrust back, forgetting to remove himself before his release, which came in a great flood of warmth inside of me.

After we had cleaned up our private parts, as we lay together under the bedroll Sandor suddenly raised, supporting his weight on an elbow as he gazed down at me with an intensity that made me feel uneasy.

“You’re so good at kissing and the rest, Sansa. Did Petyr teach it to you?”

Shame warmed my face unpleasantly and I lowered my eyes. Quick as lightening, his hand grasped one of my wrists, holding it hard, painfully. He got his face closer, hissing.

“Did he? Why did you let him? Answer me now.”

His hand was tugging at my wrist. His features had hardened in the scowling expression of the past, his eyes burning with anger. I was starting to feel the old fears flooding me, making me tremble, and making me want to beg him to stop. But some of newfound courage which had manifested itself when I met the Mountain Men rose again; anger mounted at his unfair behavior. I looked down pointedly at his hand.

“Stop it,” I said firmly.

He released my wrist immediately, sighing as I massaged it. I raised and sat up, covering my naked body with the top bedroll, looking down at him coldly.

“Remember when we first met and you said that my septa had trained me well? Girls are trained to obey, and obey I did when Petyr asked something of me. I had to, as how could I have stopped him?”

He lowered his eyes and when he looked up at me again, there was a bitter twist to his mouth.

“True, like you couldn’t stop me. You have gotten much better at pretending though; I haven’t sensed your disgust.”

The pain which appeared in his eyes pushed my upset feelings aside. I knew that his burns had scarred more than his flesh; how most people flinched at the sight of them, couldn’t bear to look at them, just I had been unable to when I was younger. I didn’t want to add to this burden and for him to think that I still felt this way.

“I haven’t pretended,” I say, and when I saw him scoffing, I put a finger on his mouth. “I have never been able to pretend with Tyrion or Petyr; I couldn’t hide my dislike and reluctance at Petyr’s ... touch. ”

“But... That most have displeased him?”

“No. Because this was what he was enjoying the most; my unwillingness, this power over me.”

A spark of bewilderment briefly appeared in his eyes, followed by a grimace of disgust and pain, as if he had tasted something very nasty. He turned his head and spat and when he looked at me again, he sighed regretfully.

“Bloody hell... What a sick fuck. Too bad that we have to go in the opposite direction, as I would gladly let him have a taste of my steel.”

We settled down to sleep, close to one another, but my happy mood had long gone, spoiled by having to relieve once again these shameful memories which I had been trying hard to put in the back of my mind. I couldn’t help but blame Sandor for having brought this up and slept more fitfully, waking up unsettled about dim memories of unpleasant dreams.

After we had eaten breakfast and Sandor having packed the last of our camp, I glanced as he poured water on the still smoldering coals and something struck me.

“Sandor! Haven’t you noticed that on the last days, you’ve been more comfortable with camp fires, not standing as far away from them as before when you’ve fed them? It seems like you have lost your...fear of fire.”

This stopped him in his movements. He became quite still, his mouth working; then shrugged.

“Seems like I have, little bird.” he said expressionlessly.

His reaction bewildered me. I hadn’t expected him to suddenly explode in joy but neither had I had expected him to react like this, as if this was a quite ordinary thing. I sighed, disappointed, thinking that I would never understand this man.

But he didn’t seem to notice my new mood for once, strangely subdued and lost in his own thoughts, and we rode in silence.

We reached Maidenpool near midday and entered an inn near the harbor to rent a room. After having our bags stored in the room, we went back to the common hall to have a midday meal of hot barley soup and bread.

“What will we do now?” I asked him what we had finished eating.

“We wait. A man is supposed to contact us. I have left word with the innkeeper to come get me when he shows up for the meeting and the booking on the ship. We’ll rest in the meantime.”

We got up to ascend the stairs to return to our room.


	5. Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twists...

When we reached the end of the stairs and walked to our room, standing near the door, I suddenly felt the strangest thing, like a strong sense of foreboding. I could feel a presence - something cold and dangerous was waiting behind that door, I was certain of it - and took a step back, shaking. I whipped my head around to look at Sandor and I could see from the way he had become utterly still that he felt it too. He jerked his head sharply.

“Stand back, to the side.” he whispered harshly. “Don’t move until I’ve checked if the room is safe. If something happens, run.”

He touched and turned the doorknob with caution to see if it was still locked – and it turned easily in his grasp. Kicking the door open, he stood aside, waiting for somebody to charge in his direction. When nothing happened, he entered stealthily in a fighting stance, with his dagger out. A soft voice sounded, muffled from the distance.

“Valar Morghulis, Hound.”

“You!” Sandor hissed.

“Surprised?” the voice asked mockingly. “Did the Hound think he could elude a man by arriving two days later in another town? Does the Hound think the man has survived this long by being a trusting fool?” the voice added, low and silky with menace.

While the voice was masculine and its tone different than what I was used to, its softness and the strange way of speaking were very familiar to me. And he was the source of the threat I had sensed!

Feeling strongly compelled, I moved and entered the room in a trance, lightheaded with legs as soft as rags.

Sandor extended his arm to bar my entry. “No, Sansa! Don’t come in!”

“Why?” asked the man. “A man means the girl no harm, as you well know it, Hound.”

I spied a tall wide shouldered but slender figure silhouetted against the window. It advanced slowly until it came out of the shadows and then I could discern him. He had long hair, both white and dark red, with a fine featured face, large pale grey eyes. He looked so much like Lara that he could have been a twin brother of hers, if she ever had had one. I felt my eyes become huge in shock for a moment, regained my composure and asked in a cold voice:

“What does valar morghulis mean?”

“All men must die.”

It sounded ominous and I turned to look at Sandor. “What is the meaning of this? You seem to know this man. Is it him we were supposed to meet?”

Everything had seemed to turn strange and I felt mired in confusion. Even yet more disquieting was Sandor averting his face from mine, inclining his head; sighing as if he were deeply tired. When he still remained obstinately silent, pressure built inside of my stomach, followed by a great burning feeling; impotent fury, overriding my fears. I walked to the man.

“You!” I exclaimed angrily. “I recognize you! You passed yourself as a woman and my maid, when all along you were a man. You’ve seen me naked, helping me dress and bathe; I trusted you. You have humiliated me! Trickster!”

I did something I had never done. I raised my hand and smacked his face hard. He didn’t move of flinch; he kept gazing at me steadily and just shook his head to replace the hair which I had mussed with my blow.

He inclined his head too, as if in shame. “A man asks for the lady’s forgiveness. It was never his intent.”

Somehow his apology undid me, draining me of my anger; a painful sense of bewilderment followed it. I lowered my gaze to the floor. “How can this be? Your hands and feet were smaller, your waist too; your voice was like a woman’s! How can these changes be possible? Are you a witch?”

Sandor came out of his immobility and jerked his head contemptuously at the man.

“No. His name is Jaqen H’ghar. You know what hides behind your ‘maid’, behind this man’s courtesies? Do you have any idea of what he is? A Faceless Man, able to change his appearance at will into anyone he wishes to be. That’s what your dear sister sent, a Faceless Man to find you.”

Naive as I was, even I had heard of this guild, the most elusive and feared assassins in the world. It was said that they never missed their target. _Never._ Only the wealthiest could afford to hire one. I started to tremble and backed away from the man, a gesture that he noticed right away and this made his features constrict for a second in regret before becoming impassible again.

Now Sandor was taking strides toward the man, roaring .

“You devious bastard. You never said that you would do something like this. What pleasure you must have had, leering at her body! Don’t deny it; you have the same thing dangling between your legs as I have, the same hunger that we men share.

“True, Hound,” he replied calmly. “But this girl was closely guarded by knights. The only way to get this close and gain trust was to become a female. A man had to act like a real maid as not to arouse her suspicions, but he never made an indelicate gesture.”

“Spare me your pious words! I saw the way her face glowed when she spoke of her _dear_ maid, missing her. You seduced her with your stories, your false kindness!”

“The Hound is blinded by jealousy. A man offered distraction and kindness to a girl whose life had been devoid of it for a long time. He did nothing improper.” He paused again and his eyes narrowed. “Unlike you, who didn’t have such restraints and have taken advantage of the situation, coercing her in your bed.”

How could he know? _Of course, the shared room._ His voice had turned deeper and harsher than I thought possible for such a soft voiced person, and his face, usually so amiable with its tender mouth, was now livid in fury. This surprised me. Did he care about that? I gasped as a long thin blade appeared in his hand and he walked slowly toward Sandor, who tightened his grip on his weapon.

Both of them were fixed on each other now, the room humming with rage and death. Jaqen’s blade looked delicate compared to Sandor’s big dagger, Sandor’s bulk ominous against Jaqen’s slender frame but I sensed again the lethal danger radiating in waves from him and couldn’t bear to imagine a battle between them.

My frantic pulse was thudding in my throat. I got impulsively and quickly between them and faced the one I thought would be the more level headed of the two, looking up at him. I smelled the familiar spicy scent, now laced with undertones of sweat. He became very still and the arm that held the knife lowered immediately. I touched his bicep, the flesh hard with tensed muscles which quivered under my fingers.

“Fuck, Sansa, what are you doing?” Sandor was bellowing.

I gazed into his darkened grey eyes. “He never forced me; I was willing. Please stop this madness.”

Jaqen’s mouth thinned but he put the blade away. I moved back, looking at Sandor.

“The lady has said, Hound. As much as a man would enjoy this fight, he doesn’t want to cause her more heartache. A man gives his word. ”

Sandor sheathed his blade while sighing through his teeth. I suddenly realized that I was panting and took deep breaths to regain some kind of composure.

“It was not a man who has been devious in these matters.”

My head turned to glance at Sandor, who was resuming inclining his head and avoiding me eyes. My heart sank in consternation at my sudden understanding of the situation, little details which became clear now. I was feeling like the floor had dropped from under me and that I was falling helplessly through a void.

“Please explain,” I asked him in almost a whisper.

Sandor’s mouth hardened, refusing to speak again.

“What can the Hound offer this girl except a life of hiding and hardship? Why keep her from seeing her sister again, live a more enjoyable life?”

I held up a hand. “Please, stop. I’ve heard enough. Maybe it’s not a good idea after all, being reunited with my sister. We were always at odds.”

“Time has passed since then,” Jaqen said, looking soberly in my eyes. “She’s the only kin the girl has left in the world, and she was desperate and persistent enough to have a man cross the Narrow Sea to find her sister. That is no mean feat.”

Sandor let out another long sigh. “Lorath, give me a moment alone with the girl.”

Jaqen’s jaws tensed. “No.”

I looked up at him beseechingly. “Please, Jaqen. Sandor won’t hurt me.”

Jaqen’s mouth hardened in anger but nodded his acceptance. Sighing, he left the room quietly.

I understood now that Sandor’s lack of reaction to Jaqen’s words had not grown out of fear but of shame and this completed my deep sense of desolation and betrayal. Sandor Clegane had many faults but he had always been honest with me and I had thought I could trust that. Now even he had done the same as the others, breaking his promises to me and lying so I could satisfy his desires.

“You lied. You never planned on taking the ship with me across the Narrow Sea, instead you mislead me so I would miss it.”

Tears started to trickle out of my eyes silently and it took a long time for Sandor to look at me. When our gazes met, I could spy in them the same devastation that I was feeling.

“Why didn’t you go further than Maidenpool? Jaqen would not have found us.”

“You’re wrong in that. Wherever we would have been, he would have found us. His kind never gives up. And because you would have grown suspicious if I would have wanted to go farther; it would have made no sense, as he had told you the destination.”

We both sat down on the bench and Sandor took a deep breath before speaking again.

“The Lorathi found out where I was; he hadn’t believed the Elder Brother’s story about my ‘death’ and he infiltrated the monastery by taking different appearances. I was summoned to the Elder Brother’s room one day and thought at first that this was the Elder Brother, so similar he was to him in his appearance and speech. He then changed his face and I was spooked, believing I had finally turned mad from all the wine I drunk before.

He told me how he had met Arya and how they formed a bond, as unlikely as it may seem; he’ll tell you. After they separated she escaped from the camp but she got captured by another band, the Bannerless Men, the story of which I have told you before. After leaving me she took a ship in Saltpans and they met again in Braavos.

When Jaqen spoke to me in the Elder Brother’s room he told me all of this and that he had also found where you were kept hidden. He chose me because he knew I was the best one to keep you safe and escort you to Saltpans while he had to attend to something in Gulltown.

I had never been able to get you out of my mind, like it was fixated on you. I accepted right away and told the Elder Brother about my decision. He strongly advised me against it, saying that I wasn’t ready as I was still unwilling to see beyond my anger, that this would be the ruin of both you and me. I argued that this would make me atone for the harm I had done to you, that I could really protect you this time. I thought that I had become different from my years as the monastery, but I was lying to myself in believing that, as I discovered when I first spied you in the path. I lost my head and forgot all of my good intentions. I knew that I had to have you. Remember what I was willing to do? Do you see now the lengths I was prepared to go to keep you all to myself? I hoped that in time the desire to see your sister would fade, that you would refuse to follow the Lorathi when he found us.

I was the same as when I left King’s Landing; _I haven’t changed,_ even if I made myself believe that. I took something else again from you; you only yielded and gave me a fuck on that night and on the other nights because you were scared of me. I tricked myself in believing that you were willing by forgetting _that._ Having you has been the sweetest thing that has happened to me, but it _hasn’t_ mademe change. Remember that.”

It was a lot to take in; he had been unflinchingly honest in his telling, both of himself and me. Sorrow was settling heavily in my chest. He turned his head to look at me.

“Now, go with him. He’ll keep you safe and bring you to your sister.”

“How can you be sure of his intentions? He’s an assassin!”

“If killing you had been his goal, you would already be dead. Faceless Men don’t participate in plots or play with their targets. And your sister is no fool, she wouldn’t entrust your care in someone who would harm you. Be careful, though.” His mouth was twitching. “He wants to bed you; I saw it by the way he looked at you. Don’t be swayed by his charming manners; he has no feelings and is cold through the bone.”

I inclined my head.

“What about you? Where will you go?”

“Back to the monastery. It’s the only place where I have found some peace.”

I was heartbroken. I had formed a deep attachment to Sandor Clegane, however flawed he was and was wishing so much that he would have been more patient and gentle with me, coming with me to Braavos, waiting for my readiness. I had started to... But such was not his way... Unfortunately he belonged to my past now, and I had to accept it, however much it wrenched me. I wanted so much a life where I would stop being afraid all of the time. I had to let go of him, as he had already set me free.

We both got up. Timidly, I took steps toward him until I was very close and put my arms around him, my hands reaching up to his shoulders blades. He stiffened at the contact, then his arms wrapped around me fiercely. I felt his body shaking and knew that he was sobbing, silently; while I was choking under his embrace, I gave him his time.

His arms loosened their hold and a hand came up to rub at his eyes. He grasped my head between his big hands, making me look up at him. It was one of the hardest thing I did, meeting his stormy grey eyes which held mine in a gaze that I knew would sear something in me forever.

“Little bird,” he said in a hoarse voice.

He abruptly let go, turned his back to bend and lift up his bag and then left without a backward glance.

I was still crying when Jaqen came in and walked slowly in my direction. Turning my back on him, I wiped my tears with the back of my sleeve.

“A ship bound for Braavos leaves in two hours,” he said simply.

Something in my chest pinched. Already! Too soon, too soon... I felt as if I never would be ready to leave.

Jaqen strode to where my own small bag was lying on the floor and lifted it to carry it across his shoulder. I kept my face turned away from his, my hands clenching into tense fists. He put a hand on my shoulders, which I shrugged off angrily.

“Why did a girl lie and add unnecessary shame on herself?”

I turned around to look at him. “You stood close to the door and listened, didn’t you?”

He averted his face. “A man stood guard.”

“Sandor wouldn’t harm me, and I know how to deal with him.”

He scoffed and sighed hard through his nose. “Do you now? Foolhardy girl, getting in front of a man with a drawn knife; thinking that she can control a dangerous and unpredictable man such as the Hound.”

“You will let him be, won’t you? I ...care about him.”I said haltingly in a thin voice.

Bitterness twisted his mouth. “He is a lucky man then. A man has _said._ Come now. Time doesn’t wait.”

We left the room which would never be used by any of us.

The busy streets near the harbor looked the same, but it seemed like a century since I had last glimpsed them, instead of an hour. Jaqen offered his arm, which I refused, but he tucked my arm firmly underneath his regardless. I shot him sullen look and he smiled.

“A man insists. The harbor is a dangerous place.”

Everything seemed unreal as we walked to the harbor, stopping near a big passenger ship and embarking. I saw us through a blur making our way on the deck; a door being opened with a key, Jaqen putting my bag on the floor.

I found that I couldn’t stay yet in the room. I had an urgent need to be on the deck and catch a last glimpse of the harbour as we left. I stood near the railing, feeling the deck vibrate as the ship started to move. I could also feel _his_ presence besides mine. While I knew we had to cross the Bay of Crabs before reaching the Narrow Sea, it would be my last sight of Westeros. I watched as the harbour started to recede, and as it became a smaller and smaller mass of land a lump formed in my throat. Only then did I turn my head to acknowledge him.

“Then it was you who planned everything?”

“A man did. While the situation was unusual for me, the research and preparations were the same.”

“How did you know we were at that inn in Maidenpool?”

“When the Hound and the Lady didn’t show at Saltpans, a man crossed the Trident, trying to follow the Hound’s thinking, knowing that he would choose an inn near the harbour to continue the pretense with you. A man became a weary traveller drinking in the common room until those he was looking for showed. He followed the Hound at a distance to find which room would be taken. Then he just went in and waited.”

“You sound so sure that you would succeed,” I said resentfully.

He shook his head. “No. This was just a first move. Had you not appeared at the inn, a man would just have searched deeper and followed another path until he found you, however long it would taken.”

I gazed at him, believing him. I sensed in him a deep well of patience and calm. He would keep stalking, never growing frustrated, weary or discouraged like others. He was a true hunter. Seeing him look so unruffled and cool kindled my fury again.

“It’s not only Sandor who is jealous. You are too!” I said spitefully, unable to help myself even though I knew my behavior was childish.

He laughed mirthlessly, his pale eyes icy. “A girl is wrong. The Hound is angry because he has lost you. Faceless Men don’t have these kinds of feelings.”

 _So he had listened._ His coldness stung me. “Thank you very much for everything,” I said stiffly, turning my head away from him. I was tired of looking at people in the eyes and seeing things in them that I couldn’t bear. “You have done enough, intruded enough. Now go away and leave me alone. I hate you!”

I ran to my door, opened it and went in hurriedly, slamming it and locking it.

I looked around the small room, furnished simply with a nightstand, a bed with sweet smelling sheets and a small wardrobe; there was a porthole with opened curtains. It looked more comfortable than the cabin in the ship ser Dontos had delivered me to join Petyr, and I fervently hoped that I wouldn’t feel queasy this time. Three weeks was a long time to be sick.

Then I spied a two big leather bags near the porthole, and curious, dragged them to the bed, where I sat on its side as I rummaged through their contents. I took out dresses, shifts and nightshifts, smallclothes, all in wonderful fabrics; fine linens, silks and in colours that I favoured, of a quality I had not been able to wear as Lord Baelish’s bastard daughter. I knew that Jaqen had them made for me, and I wondered how he had known if they would fit. Then I remembered with a hot flush in my face how he had acted as my maid. Of course he would know. I should return these to him, I couldn’t accept them.

I went to look in my smaller pouch and removed from it the burned and tattered part of a dark sleeved tunic which I had cut off and secretly kept. I fingered it and cried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, please don't resent me! When I write a story, the characters take over, and all doesn't go as I planned it in the rough outline.
> 
> Sandor Clegane and Jaqen H'gar are my favourite male characters and I like to pit them against one another, with different results each time.
> 
> And the story is far from over yet.


	6. The Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip into the unknown for Sansa.

I stayed in my room, having my meals brought in by a cabin boy. I was dismayed by the small amount of warm bathwater I was given every morning – only a bucketful of it – when I grimaced at this, he told me that water was rationed on a ship. I learned to wash as best as I could with it – only rubbing my hair with the wet cloth, hoping it would be enough.

I knew that I should feel elated that my prayers had been answered – I was finally free, saved from being a prisoner for so long. I was leaving so far away they never would be able to reach me, ever. And yet I was leaving a lot behind; my childhood home, my lost family - even though they were dead, putting an ocean between their unknown graves and I made it seem even more permanent - all my secret dreams and hopes for things to return to where they were. But they never would, and I had to mourn this. Memories of our lives at Winterfell kept swirling in my mind, and I wept bitterly at these happier, simpler times which I had not fully appreciated, because of the songs and my foolish dreams of an exciting life at King’s Landing court.

The bed seemed big now that I was sleeping alone once again and I had to admit that I missed Sandor’s presence – and the other things too. I had grown to feel pleasure from these couplings and acknowledging this made me feel guilty, as it hadn’t been supposed to become enjoyable – not when it had first started with unwillingness and fear. It seemed like all of the rest of my interactions with Sandor, a reflection of the complicated and ambivalent feelings I had always harbored toward this man.

I even wondered if escaping had been worth it, as it had cost me dearly; my maidenhead lost and my sense of trust further damaged. Nobody ever was what they seemed to be, even those I had felt I could trust. I also felt betrayed by Lara/Jaqen; this change of persona so bewildering; her affection having been so welcome and seeming so real – was it an illusion too? Although I had sensed some of it in the inn’s room, I didn’t know what to think anymore.

My moonblood started on the second day and this reprieve lightened up a bit my despairing mood. While Sandor had been careful most of the times at not spilling his seed inside of me, I knew that once would have been enough for it to impregnate me, and I didn’t need the additional shame of landing at my sister’s door pregnant with a bastard child. Also, I wasn’t seasick this time, relieved that I had seemed to grow my sea legs.

Sometimes anticipation about discovering this foreign Free City would rise but it came with the realization that this was exile for me, maybe forever, however this seemed intriguing.

I had no peace either in my sleep, being plagued by nightmares about Petyr finding me again, leaning over me in my bed with his cold, triumphant face, the Queen smirking at me while I was ordered to kneel and ser Ilyn was looming over me with his sword raised, ready to swing it down to cut off my head. I would wake trembling from these dreams. It would take a long time after to reassure myself that I was in a cabin at sea, out of reach.

But I was a ten and six years old girl, young and resilient and the worst of the grief lost its grip on me after a four days and the cabin had begun to feel confining and stifling. I was starting to long for fresh air and to be curious about the ship’s life.

_I hope that Sandor has arrived safely at the Quiet Isle, that he will be able to heal there._

One morning, after having eaten, bathed and dressed carefully I gingerly opened the door and went out on the deck. The sky was overcast, its pale grey colour diffusing a delicate light, the breeze light and warm.

I spied some people strolling on the deck but what captured my attention was the tall figure leaning easily against the railing, the breeze ruffling his long white and red hair. The sounds I had made getting out of the room must have alerted him. He stared at me with his pale grey eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. I startled at his sight, and he inclined his head graciously.

“A man will leave if his presence disturbs the lady,” he said softly.

I took a deep breath and walked to where he was, forcing myself to look at him. “No,” I said, stopping near him. “I wanted to thank you for the new garments. I have to admit that at first I wanted to throw them in your face, but I threw the old ones overboard instead.”

_Too many bad memories about them, except for a burned half sleeve._

He burst out laughing.

“Also, I want to offer you my excuses for the words I said to you on the other day and for having hit you.”

He shook his head regretfully. “No need for forgiveness, my lady. A girl heard harsh truths on that day and was rightfully angry. Both men had been deceitful to her. A man regrets that it had to be that way.”

He was looking at me an intense expression and had to look away, flustered. I turned around and leaned against the railing, looking at the swells of the gray sea which rose up and down in a regular, calm movement. Thankfully, he left me to my contemplation. We remained like this for minutes, the silence oddly soothing, unstrained.

“Please, I would like to know about your encounter with Arya, how you met, how you became...friends.”

Jaqen gestured to a secluded bench further and we walked to it; he waited until I was seated to lower himself in it. I gazed at him as he told the tale; how, bound for the Wall, Arya had saved him and his companions from the caged wagon on fire in which they were kept when they were attacked; how these three lives had been snatched from the Red God and he owed Arya three deaths. He told her that she could name anyone and it would be done. She had given two names; the insignificance of those had lulled him in a false sense of security regarding this child girl. Then she had balked at giving the third one, wanting instead his help in liberating some northern prisoners. He had refused, reminding her of their bargain and she had tricked him by giving him his own name. He either had the choice of killing himself or helping her. He had helped her.

“You mean that you would really have killed yourself?” I asked in disbelief.

“A man had sworn.”

The deed done, he had offered to take her with him but she had refused, wanting to go back to Winterfell. He had given her a coin to show to any man in Braavos if she needed him again. They had parted ways. He had found her two years ago at the guild’s house.

I was impressed by my sister’s sheer audacity and cunning in this deadly game, but also uncomprehending of their behaviors, of her hatred, of both of their easy closeness with death. My little warrior sister had fought her way through her trials while I had submitted through my own and I wondered once again how we could get along when we would be reunited.

“Thank you.”

I got up and walked again to the railing. After a few moments I turned around, finding him leaning against the wall, watching me steadily and pulling away fluttering strands of hair which kept grazing his face. I took a deep breath.

“Is this your real face?”

“No. This is a face that the man is most comfortable with. However, this is not the way of our guild, as each identity must die after it has served, but a man has his weaknesses.”

Did he? I found that hard to believe. He was the most self disciplined man I had ever met. The expression in his eyes became distant, as if he was looking very away.

“When a man was still an apprentice boy in the House of White and Black, a young Lorathi man came in one day for the gift of mercy, even though he didn’t look sick or wounded. He cried quietly on a bench, full of some unknown sorrow and then took a drink from the black cup and went to lie down in an alcove. When the life had left his body, his face looked peaceful. A man never forgot him.”

I felt tears welling in my eyes. “This is such a sad story...”

I looked at the surrounding sea blindly; struggling with my emotions; then asked:

“Why not use your real one?”

He explained about his training in the Guild’s house, how at first he had to become no one as to be able to melt seamlessly into a new identity. “It has been too long; a man has worn many other faces and the memory of his own face has been lost in time. Would the man try to recover it, he would be faceless.”

I straightened and turned to face him. He had not moved from where he was, respectful of the distance that I had put between us. His courtesy had been one of the things that had impressed me the most when he had been in the Lara persona; it was not expressed to fit conventions but was as genuine a part of him, as natural as breathing.

“What was the task you had to attend to in Gulltown?”

The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “The man had two tasks. One was what the man usual does. Giving the gift of mercy.”

I found my mood darkening at this reminding of what he did so easily, shivers running down my spine. I took a few steps closer as I didn’t want the passerby overhearing us.

“Your way of saying that you have killed someone,” I whispered. “How can killing be a mercy?”

“It is the way of the Red God; recalling one of his own back to him. Is this not a mercy, being reunited once again with one’s God, being free of wanting and suffering? Were you not taught this?”

“Yes, I was taught this as a child; but I always wondered what would I do sitting besides Gods for an eternity. And I have found that however life can be awful, I cling to it strongly and am in no hurry to rejoin the Seven Gods or the Old Gods. And especially this Red God, as he seems impatient to claim the lives he has created.”

He smiled. “A girl is very young.”

“Who was it?” My heart started to beat faster. Very slowly, he raised his two hands, clenched them into fists and raised his two little fingers, wriggling them, his head tilted to one side as his grey eyes studied me. My heart leapt in my throat. I took a few steps back, a hand flying to my mouth to stifle my gasping.

“Why? Did somebody command it? What is your true purpose then in crossing the Narrow Sea?”

“No. A man spoke the truth about his purpose. Some would have gladly made the one we speak of disappear, but this was a man’s... personal decision. The other task was to order the making of suitable clothes for you. Does this find favour with the Lady?”

I thought that it was an awful thing, his asking me if I was pleased, as if both the purchasing of clothes and the killing of a man were the same. And yet, in spite of my horror, a part of me was loosening inside in relief. Petyr had a lot of spies working for him both in Westeros and Essos and maybe I wouldn’t have been safe from him even across the Narrow Sea. As nobody else had known of my true identity, no one would find the disappearance of his bastard daughter important enough to conduct a thorough search.

I inclined my head in silent gratitude.

I felt some excitement too... Jaqen had acted like in the songs: a knight who had saved a maiden kept prisoner by an evil lord and killed him. But I reminded myself that this man was no knight – he was a cold blooded assassin. This was deeply troubling.

I looked up at him again. “While I am grateful, you know that I can never repay you. I have nothing except the gold that you have kindly given me.”

I thought he understood that I wasn’t only speaking about money from the way a smile played on the corners of his mouth.

“A man asks nothing in return.”

I was hoping that he was speaking truly. But I said nothing. He was still staring at me with eyes whose shade had darkened, the expression on his handsome face unreadable. I was trying to conceal my own feelings also, as they were getting murkier; I lowered my gaze. I couldn’t avoid remembering my disturbing attraction to Lara and now that I knew who she was I couldn’t fathom how I could still feel drawn: how honour, gentleness and deathliness could exist in the same person; how such a man would be so alluring to me.

I found that we were standing too close together, his sweet spicy scent reaching me from his long hair fluttering on my cheeks. I was standing still, very still, my gaze fixed on the spot where ties joined at the top of his collarless tunic, from which his smooth skinned throat emerged. My feelings finally overwhelmed me.

“No!” I cried, pushing him away; then ran away blindly, in any direction where I could get away from him.

I heard him chuckle gently, then his light footsteps as he followed me from a distance.

**************

I discovered that the passengers were a mixed lot; some exiled highborns and knights; others, whom I couldn’t define, from all over Westeros travelling to make a new life, like me. Since most of them had left under a cloud of disgrace, they were quite discrete and secretive, which suited me very well. Separated from us below decks commoners were packed in closed and dirty quarters. I knew that some would never arrive in Braavos under these dismal conditions of living. Each time that a wrapped body was thrown overboard, I felt a pang for the person and knew that regardless of rank, not much separated us. I had nothing, except my clothes, a small pouch of gold and luckily a sister who had summoned me from across the Narrow Sea.

Instead of wallowing further in grief, I decided to try to do something to help these people. One afternoon I descended the stairs which would take me to the under deck with a new resolve. Jaqen, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere as I had made my way on the deck, tried to dissuade me.

“It is too dangerous for you to go down there.”

“Then guard me,” I replied crisply.

“A man cannot guard you against disease; the hold will be riddled with it.”

“Please, Jaqen,” I asked in a softer tone voice. “The Mother would want me to do this and will protect me.”

He sighed, still grim faced, but nodded and stepped in front of me, going down the stairs first.

I had kept one of my shabbier dresses as not to look out of place among the common folk down there but still drew some stares as I walked the under deck. A door opened, a man bending down as he went though the doorway and such a ghastly stench emanated from behind that I thought for a moment that I would be sick. I felt like if I was stepping in one of the Seven Hells as I went inside. The light in the room was murky, showing people and children huddling miserably together, sitting against a wall, while some slept on dirty blankets. Overflowing buckets of refuse were lined against another wall. There were no windows letting in air, no natural light.

Jaqen was still outside, leaning against the doorway, his expression impassible as he watched. I spied some healthier looking men and women and asked them to come outside with me. They did it hesitantly, bewilderment in their eyes as they didn’t understand what I would want with them.

I saw a member of the crew come out of another door, where I supposed the crew bunked and signaled to him. When he ignored me, Jaqen strode toward him.

“You,” he said in a deceptively soft tone, underlined with threat. “The Lady wishes to converse with you. Come.”

The sailor heard it too. He tensed; then regaining his cockiness, strode lazily toward me with an exaggerated expression of surprise on his raised brows.

“Please, I need help. These people live in dismal conditions, are sick. Their quarters have to be cleaned to stop illness. Would you get us what is needed? The upper deck is washed every day. Surely there is enough water and soap for the under deck too.”

He snorted in contempt and laughed. I felt my face get warm from my rising temper.

“Then summon the first officer here,” I ordered in my most prim tone of voice. I hadn’t lost the long life habit of being a highborn, despite the last years living in more modest conditions. “If you don’t wish to comply, I will make life hard for you, as the captain is a cousin twice removed from my House and he will hear of this.”

He paled a bit at this and went up the stairs hurriedly. Jaqen exploded in guffaws of laughter. I ignored him, turning around to the men and women who had watched the exchange in with round eyes.

“You will have help, I give you my word,” I said firmly.

The first officer arrived shortly, followed by the crewman, who was babbling. “I apologize, for sure, for having disturbed you, but that lady was making such a bloody stink and ...”

The first officer dismissed the man curtly and gazed at me in a no more amiable manner. I raised my head, refusing to be intimidated, seemingly dipping in a new found strength of will. I repeated my request with as much confidence as I could muster and to my surprised he acquiesced, although reluctantly. Soon, the hold was emptied, crewmen emptying buckets, washing the floor with soapy water, boiling water in huge cauldrons where grimy clothes and blankets were thrown with soap to clean them.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, my Lady?”

“Yes, except for one thing. These people don’t have enough to eat. Their rations are too small to sustain them.”

“They don’t have the means for more; else they would not have been staying in the hold.”

“But I have the means,” I said, brandishing my gold filled pouch, emptying it in his hastily opening hands. “Surely this would be enough to furnish them with adequate nourishment for the rest of the crossing?”

He reddened. “Quite, quite.”

“Then see to it, please.”

He left, his head shaking in befuddlement. Some of the women milling outside in their shifts came up to me and thanked me profusely and I started to feel uncomfortable with such gratitude. I left then, going up the stairs, feeling more at peace.

As we were walking beside one another, Jaqen gestured to the secluded bench and I sat down in it gratefully. I noticed that the light had dimmed and that the setting sun was staining the clouds and water with wisps of yellows and reds, while the sky overhead had turned a darker shade of blue. Jaqen slid on it and looked at me with eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Well done, my Lady of Stark.”

I inclined my head. “I’m honoured. But back at Winterfell, it was our duty to take care of the people on our lands, when misfortune befell them. It was the least I could do.”

“A lady has learned to lie quite well too.”

This miffed me. “I’ve had to lie for a long time. Now, I might as well use these skills for a good cause,” I replied primly.

A smile was shivering at the corner of his mouth and I couldn’t resist. This man had a way of making me feel more at ease, and he was so polite and considerate, regardless of what he was. I giggled.

“Will the lady feel ready for some nourishment of her own? The evening meal is awaiting.”

“I’ll wait for the second seating, if it pleases you. And I have to change first.” I still had the stench in my nostrils and food didn’t appeal for the moment. Without thinking, I found my hand in a pocket and took out my little coin purse.

“It has become quite flat,” Jaqen said with a raised eyebrow. “The gold was meant for you, not to feed hungry mouths. Please, give it to a man.”

I handed it over but when I saw him unfasten his bigger purse from his belt and open it, I hastily put my hand over his.

“Please, this is not necessary. I don’t want it; I have everything that I need aboard.”

“A lady will accept as graciously as she has given,” he replied in a firm tone of voice. He took out gold coins and added some in the purse until it was rounded again.

The dining room where we all gathered for meals was also used at night as a gambling hall and a winesink. I knew that Jaqen often spent a part of the evening there – not as an urge to drink or to gamble, although he did both – but to observe the people, to gauge them, to ascertain any danger that would lurk and be ready. This was such an innate part of his nature that he did it all of the time, everywhere.

The weather was quite mild, Spring turning into late Spring already. After the long Summer which had lasted for a decade, the masters and people had said that a very long Winter was coming, but it had lasted only two years; a fluke of nature which had eluded the predictions. I sometimes wondered it our world was warming up and an eternal Summer would reign and what would happen to the Wall if this happened.

Thinking about the melting Wall had brought on another train of questions. I had found to my surprise that Jaqen, whom I had expected to be very secretive and closed, was always willing to answer them. After we had finished supper on another night and were sitting on the same bench on the deck, I turned my head to look at him.

“I’m puzzled that Arya chose to travel across the Narrow Sea to join you instead of travelling to the Wall to Jon. He was always her favourite in our family and that’s what I expected her to do.”

“The lady knows her sister well. This is what Arya proposed to the Hound, when she was his captive, after they had escaped from the Twins massacre. But it was not to be. The way up the Neck was riddled with warring parties and the North occupied by the Iron Men and torn with the Stark’s bannermen fighting against one another. And still the Wall would be far away. A man thinks that this would not have been a suitable place for her.”

“Have you ever been there?”

He laughed. “Unfortunately, yes. What desolate, cold place, where no furs or wine could keep me warm.”

“But why would your services be needed there? These black brothers live in such isolation from the rest of the world; how could they be a threat to somebody?”

“A man reminds a girl that some recruits for the Wall are found in the black cells – very unsavoury characters who have committed heinous crimes. Revenge may be what had been called for.”

This made me remember that Jaqen himself has been ‘recruited’ from the black cells and bound for the Wall when Arya first met him. I felt too squeamish to ask what crime had had him put in the worst cells at the Red Keep. Instead, I told him of a theory I had been building in my times alone, careful to keep my tone of voice low.

“I think I know why men of your calling cost so much to hire. You seem to know everything, not secret can be kept from you. I think that you have a vast network of spies and that is what makes it expensive.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “That is not so, sweet girl. A man would never be able to remain invisible if he was known to so many.”

“Except if these spies were employed by your guild. Then the secrecy would remain.”

“Secrets never remain secrets with more than one person knowing them. Men are fallible, can be made to talk easily. Persons of my calling always work alone, only form bonds of a temporary nature for an assignment. A man becomes part of a place, exploring each facet of it so deeply that he knows it better than the ones born to it. This takes a lot of time, patience; unlimited resources. That is why the cost is so high.”

******************

One sunny afternoon, after a stroll together around the deck, he was leaning against the railing in that easy grace of his, smiling, the sun making the red in his hair shine like wine, making me want to touch it.

“How long had you been in Westeros when we left?”

“Nine months, including the crossing.”

“All this time without news! Arya must wonder and be worried, waiting for so long for your return.”

“In this case yes. It is always more dangerous when personal feelings are attached to the outcome.”

I was grateful for his patience for my curiosity which seemed endless. Part of it came from the fact that he fascinated me; the other part was the absence of immediate danger, which had taken so much of my energy and mind that I could only think every day about how to avoid endless pitfalls, no more. Now that the fear was loosening its grip on my mind, it had begun its own journey of travelling and exploring so many things which had been pushed in the back of it, and I discovered that I wasn’t as stupid as the queen would have me believe while not being paralyzed by constant fear.

As he gazed at me his eyes filled with reproach.

“A man has told the girl many stories but she has told him none. A man would hear some.”

I clasped my hands together. “I am very sorry about this, but I have no good tales to tell.”

“A girl has kept many secrets for a long time, yes? She is wrong in assuming the man knows everything. He is puzzled about some things.”

“Oh. Like what?”

A hint of hardness tightened his mouth. “A man cannot understand why you have this deep attachment to such a dishonourable man as the Hound.”

“That is not a good story.”

He sighed shortly through his nose. “A man doesn’t want to be entertained – he would know.”

“I still think that you are wrong in judging him harshly. You don’t know how he became the way he is, how he got these horrendous burns.”

His eyes narrowed. “But a girl knows. Yes?”

I raised my chin. “Yes, and _secrets never remain secrets with more than one person knowing them._ I’m the only one left who knows.”

“But that’s not what a man wants to know.”

I sighed in exasperation. “Arya is not the only one who can be very persistent.”

He laughed, in that good natured and boyish way that he had. I couldn’t resist smiling, then sobered as I haltingly started to tell about my first meeting with the Hound, the events at King’s Landing which led to my father’s execution, how Sandor Clegane had been the only one to care about my fate and how he tried to help up to his leaving King’s Landing, my wedding to Tyrion, Joffrey’s death, how I had disappeared, ending with Littlefinger, my aunt’s death. Once started, the words flew easily and I couldn’t help telling all; something tense was starting to dissolve inside. Jaqen had put his elbows on his thighs, his clasped hands under his chin as he listened attentively, expression impassive, grey eyes steady on me. I felt hot tears sliding down my cheeks as I finished; a trembling in my body.

I saw a hand rising toward my face, long fingers wiping my tears and stroking my hair softly.

“Sweet girl... Can’t you see how a child was thrown with lions, unprepared and too young for their cruel games?”

“I was a coward.”

“A girl is too harsh with herself. Come.”

He got up and took my hand, walking to a wall behind the bench. Removing his cloak, he spread it on the deck and sat down, beckoning to sit in front of him, between his legs. I sat down and his arms came around me, making me lean against him, the back of my head resting on his shoulder, feeling his silky scented hair against my cheek.

This felt so good... My hands were resting on top of his arms, which were clasped loosely around me. I could feel tension releasing its hold in my body. His head leaned down and I felt his warm mouth at my temple, on my cheek, kissing them softly, making every fiber of my being shiver. I thought that maybe the time for him to claim his payment had come and I sensed that if he started to grope me that I wouldn’t have the will to stop him. _But he didn’t._ He just held me, breathing regularly against my hair and ear and I wondered how such a chaste embrace could feel so comforting and so exciting at the same time.

“A man will also tell a secret,” he whispered in my ear, his voice soft, intimate. “You were right - a man is jealous too – of the Hound and of any other man in whose arms you would shiver so.”


	7. Braavos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew that I would lose some readers when I veered off san/san territory, but the characters took over and the story followed.
> 
> Thanks to everybody who left comments and kudos!

We were strolling on the deck on another morning. The sun was shining again and little white clouds were floating merrily in the blue sky. We topped to lean on the railing side by side, gazing at the expanse of water which surrounded the ship. It seemed so endless that I sometimes feared that we would remain bobbing in this immensity forever, the land a memory of the past.

“Jaqen,” I said, looking steadily in front of me. I wanted to thank you about your ... gallantry... on the other night.”

Saying this and what it implied made my cheeks blush hotly. I was glad that I wasn’t looking at him.

His voice came from my side, soft and slightly amused. “Meaning not taking more than an embrace? Gallantry, a sentimental, western ideal,” he scoffed.

“If you don’t have it in the East, what have you to replace it?” I muttered sullenly.

“Honour.” His finger, like the other time in the stables, touched below my chin, guiding it gently to look at him. I let him do it, mesmerised by his pale grey eyes, which had become hooded.

“A girl is a flower in a garden surrounded with rocks like boundaries. A man must not trespass unless invited inside.”

I blinked, startled at his assessment. “You say it so beautifully. Thank you. You must have noticed that I have...difficulties looking at others in the face. In the past, Sandor was angry at me because I couldn’t bear to look at him, because of his burns, but it was only partly true. I often feel overwhelmed by other’s strong feelings, by closeness, and have to retreat.”

 _Like now..._ I turned around and resumed walking and soon Jaqen was again beside me. From the corner of my eye I could spy him smiling.

“You said that your assignments could last a long time,” I said after a few moments of silence. “Which was the longest one?”

“The one which started before the man met Arya and afterwards. It lasted two years.”

“When we arrive in Braavos, you will leave again for a long period?”

In hearing myself asking this, I was discovering how I was dreading it – that he would leave and that wouldn’t see him for a long time. He stopped and leaned against a wall, blowing out a breath and gazing at me intently.

“A man is uncertain. Before he left Braavos, he consulted a red priest for a reading of the flames. The priest advised the man against going on this quest, as the need for haste and his personal feelings would cloud his judgement; causing him to make mistakes and loose his true purpose; unexpected things would occur that the man was not prepared for.”

“And still you left, for friendship.”

”A man did. And it happened like the priest had predicted. A man became muddled and forgot that one doesn’t kill from sentiments or personal reasons; a man let feelings of anger overcome him and rode to Gulltown; he should not have left your welfare in the hands of another. It was a grievous mistake in choosing the Hound to escort you. He was deceived by the Hound’s own self deceit and never expected this.”

Somehow I felt guilty; even I had not asked him to kill Lord Baelish. Jaqen must have sensed this as his expression lightened and he smiled wistfully.

“Sweet girl, that is not your doing. Some things are stronger than a man’s will.”

“This guild – could you leave it?”

“The guild obeys the rulings of the Red God. A man can leave if he is called elsewhere.”

I frowned in worry. “But won’t they try to keep you from leaving, being afraid that you would betray secrets?”

He smiled indulgently. “Which secrets? There is nothing secret about the guild. Anyone in Braavos can guide one who asks about it to its doorstep; people come there to be given the gift of mercy. The secret is in its members, their assignments.”

He inclined his head graciously. When he raised it again, his expression had become intense and I felt more drawn than ever. I was losing this battle against the strong attraction I had felt toward him since I had known him as Lara. Had I sensed the male behind the woman appearance? But man or woman, it didn’t seem important anymore. I took steps toward him, closer and closer until I was able to put my hands on his shoulders, looking up at his handsome face, surprised by how hard his heart was beating in his chest. I felt lightheaded as he put his arms around my back and waist, drawing me closer to his slender, hard body. I felt as if my body was melting into his, my face resting against his chest, inhaling the soapy clean smell mixed with his spicy scent, unafraid and content. _So that’s how it could be, between two persons..._

I burrowed my face in his chest, making little sounds of happiness. His cheek rested on top of my head and I felt the warm breeze of his breath in my hair. A deep sense of calm filled me as I listened to the quietening beating of his heart.

“Sweet, sweet Sansa,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head, my hair.

We stood like this for a long time.

Gradually, echoes of raucous cries became sharper in the still air and I pulled away, gazing at the horizon. He took my hand in his own as we saw white specks flying far away, becoming full sized birds as they approached and circled around the ship, and I knew then that land would be sighted soon.

ffffff

On the next morning, I was nervous with trepidation and anticipation. Putting a foot on land would make this journey real, the separation from the world I had known all of my life complete.

The Braavos harbour was much bigger than the Saltpans one - while the same kind of feverish activities went on - the similarities stopped there. People looked so different, many of a foreign origin and dressed in bolder colours and less structured garments; I kept hearing strange words spoken in a melodic, liquid tongue.

And there were no horses.

I looked in question at Jaqen. He had hired a man to deliver our bags to his house and was leading me by the hand to another pier, where small curved black boats were tied, awaiting some business. A swarthy mean with his head covered by a colourful kerchief approached. Jaqen gave him some coins, giving directions in the same foreign tongue I had heard previously. He helped me get into the boat, reclining opposite me in a padded bench, covered in a fringed velvet fabric.

“This is how Braavosi travel when they have to cover a longer distance. The streets are waterways, and the sidewalks too narrow for riders and their horses.”

I frowned. “Sidewalks? What are they?”

He smiled. “A lady will see.”

The sailor used a pole to make the boat advance on the water, and soon we approached the city, where indeed the streets were made out of water, called canals, and the ‘sidewalks’ were narrow strips of cobbled stones bordered by tall houses, connected in many places by arched bridges.

The canals narrowed as get travelled deeper in the city and I could see much closer the washed and fading of pastel coloured paint on the houses, lush baskets of flowers hanging from small windows, laundry drying on clotheslines hanging overhead, spanning the width of the canal. I could smell the water too; brackish and strong and I wrinkled my nose.

Jaqen laughed. “Ah, the smell of Braavos. A man missed it. A lady will get used to it in time.”

I wondered about it, and then remembered how King’s Landing smelt much worse and yet I had endured it. This was an alluring, exotic place.

We turned off many branches of the canals before coming to a house at the end of a canal; a four storied house with a smooth expanse of a blind blue coloured wall, with only a door in its middle, guarded by a strange looking man. Completely bald and with black almond shaped eyes, he was dressed in saffron robes and breeches, with a wicked curved blade hanging from his belt. He looked impassively at us as we disembarked from the small boat. When we treaded the stones, he bowed with his hands clasped high on his forehead and Jaqen repeated the greeting.

The man opened the door for us and closed it behind him silently. We were in a large entry hall, with torches burning at each opposite wall and enclosed by long, thick dark blue velvet curtains. Jaqen touched my shoulder.

“A man’s home,” he said simply. “A lady must prepare herself. Arya will be quite...excited.”

We walked through the curtains to a common hall, the likes of which I had never seen. Walls draped in coloured silks, which flowed lavishly on the floor, patterned fringed carpets, furniture in exotic woods, high molded ceilings. From somewhere, I heard clatter, hurried footsteps descending stairs. A carved door opened and a figure appeared which I mistakenly took for a boy at first, as she was dressed like one in britches and a tunic; short dark hair, a lanky body, slate coloured eyes made huge by shock. Then she yelled and I recognised my sister’s voice immediately.

“Jaqen!”You did it! You have succeeded!”

He was chuckling in amusement. “Did a girl ever doubt it?”

“But it took so long... I was discouraged.”

With another shriek she flung herself at him, embracing him tightly around the waist. He put his arms around her and kissed the crown of her head, then disengaged himself.

“Arya, your courtesies...” he said gently.

With a timidity which surprised me, she took tentative, uncertain steps toward me.

“Sansa... You are different, like a woman. You are so beautiful...” she breathed.

I was shaking like a leaf in the wind from my emotions, only able to manage a small smile.

“You look the same,” I said in a tremulous tone of voice. “Only taller.”

She shrugged. I took steps toward her too but we didn’t embrace, as we had never been demonstrative with each other before. I turned around and discovered that Jaqen had vanished silently.

“Come,” Arya said, taking my hand in hers. “I’ll give you a visit and show you your room.”

There were four stories, each floor opening on two stairwells, the entries curtained in the same dark blue velvet curtains, rooms furnished and decorated as lavishly as the ground floor with beautiful fabrics, precious objects, and dark colours. There were windows on only the one side which looked out a central courtyard, with a water fountain, benches and colourful, heady scented flowers. It was surrounded by high impregnable smooth walls.

We entered a large room, with a silk covered bed, delicate padded benches, a small table, sheer curtains flowing softly from the breeze. My bags were already deposited on the floor near a carved chest. My eyes were blinded by all that I had been and I blew out a sigh as we sat on the benches, feeling like if I was in a wonderful, intoxicating dream.

“This house, all of this... It belongs to him?” I asked with wide eyes.

“It does. Jaqen is very rich,” she replied bluntly.

“As rich as the Lannisters?”

She scoffed. “The Lannisters would almost be paupers here compared to others in the Free Cities. Some people in the Slavers Bay, in Qarzt, they have fortunes the size of which could never be imagined in Westeros.”

She clapped her hands and a man appeared, similar to the guard at the door. She ordered something refreshments and he disappeared silently.

“These men are eunuchs,” she answered my unvoiced question.

“Like Varys at King’s Landing?”

“Different kind of eunuch. Jaqen bought them in Slaver’s Bay and gave them back their freedom. They are the only ones to serve in his household. They have been trained since childhood to serve as ultimate warriors. They are emotionless, cannot be bribed, swayed, tempted.”

_The perfect kind of men to serve a Faceless Man._

The man came back holding a silver teapot, cups and assorted delicate sweets. But as much as they looked tempting, I felt too nervous to eat and drank of the hot fragrant tea, which smelled of flowers.

“Jasmine tea,” Arya said, lounging carelessly on her chair, looking so comfortable.

“You have grown to seem confident,” I said, uneasy with the silence.

Her face lit up in pleasure. “You think so?” she asked earnestly, and she looked once again like my little sister. “Do you think that you could come to like it here, with us?”

I smiled. “I’m certain I will.”

She frowned. “But you sound stiff and formal, like a lady; and your eyes look so sad.”

I sighed, putting back the cup on the table. “I’m sorry, Arya. It had always been hard for me to...demonstrate my feelings.”

She nodded. “I know.”

Her own eyes were filling with worry and this made something melt inside of me. Tears started to fill me eyes, over spilling and gliding on my cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “It seems that it’s all I’ve been doing for a long time, crying always.”

I whimpered, ashamed. Arya sat up straighter in her chair, leaning toward me.

“Sansa... I have no idea what happened to you, after you were left alone with the Lannisters and that horrible Joffrey in the Red Keep. I won’t hold anything against you as I know Jaqen has told you about me and still you have come. I wouldn’t have expected it of my old prim sister.”

I laugh through my tears, holding her hand. Arya poured more tea in my cup, and after the first halting sentences, the story flew out of me, freeing me more once again of the poison. Arya listened with her big eyes, interrupting only to ask questions.

As time passed and we grew weary, we lay down on the bed, Arya snuggled against me like a little sister and she talked too, of Yoren the black brother, her friends; Hot Pie, Gendry and enemies like the Tickler, Weese and Tywin Lannister under who she had served and who had never known her true identity, ser Gregor Clegane, Harrenhal, The Bannerless brotherhood, the Hound; of her first kill and of the others, the black and White House, where Jaqen had found her two years ago.

The light in the chamber was dimming as were our voices and exhausted, we both closed our eyes and fell asleep in a sweet slumber...

Light footsteps sounded and I opened my eyes, seeing a silhouette coming from behind the curtains, stopping at the foot of the bed and smiling down indulgently at us.

“Lovely girls, a feast is awaiting.”

ffffff

It was much, too much...

The beautiful house, the welcoming, the peace, the newness – I couldn’t take them in, couldn’t settle down. While I had prayed so much to be away from the Red keep, the Eyrie, this new life seemed to be too beautiful to be true and I kept waiting for something to change; some treachery to finally show its face.

Jaqen had been more absent in the first days, attending to duties and settling his affairs after having being away for so long; Arya disappearing for her training. I had found a library on the second floor, marvellous books with images and telling of ancient eastern history, which I read avidly.

One afternoon I sat down on a bench in the courtyard, listening to the chirping of birds texturing the air beautifully, the soothing sounds of the water fountain, and looking at the walls, I thought that I was in a fortress – so safe but so cut off from the world – another cage again, as Sandor would have said disdainfully.

I looked up when I heard the back door open and saw Jaqen come out of it, striding in my direction with a smile.

“Is a lady ready to discover a little of the city?”

“Oh, yes!” I cried in relief. “I do so long to go out.”

I ran up to get my little purse of gold and a light cloak, meeting Jaqen in the entry hall between the curtains and the front door. His gaze bid me to wait before he opened it. He put his hands on my shoulders.

“This house is not a prison,” he said, as he had read my previous thoughts. I squirmed uncomfortably under his hands. “But a lady must never go out alone; the beauty of the city is deceptive in hiding its dangers. If the man is not available, a lady asks one of the eunuchs to escort her to where she wants to go. Always.”

“But Arya goes out by herself,” I replied sullenly.

“Arya is not the same.”

“I know. She’s a fighter, while I’m a helpless flower.”

“Of what use is a protector if there is nobody to protect? All men were made by the Gods to be exactly as they are.”

“Yes, until they are called back to the Red God,” I said bitterly.

He arched his brows but said nothing, guiding me out of the door. I knew that I was behaving ungraciously. Out on the street, I clung to Jaqen’s arm as I walked gingerly, almost grazing the walls.

“One must not walk home drunk on these walkways. They’re so narrow; I feel that a small misstep would make me plunge in the canal. Do people often fall in the water?”

He laughed, sounding amused. “Not as often as the girl would think. Braavosi are used to them, and they are good swimmers too.”

We left the street and turned on another one, walking slowly. As we went further the sidewalks widened and we soon started to meet other people strolling in the direction of a central square, where vendor’s colourful stalls were erected. After having been shut up in castles for years, I was unused to walking in outside and in crowds; I could feel my body starting to tense from the stares, wishing I had put up my hood on my head.

“Men are looking because you are beautiful,” said Jaqen in a soft tone. “They do not stare because they think a girl is a fugitive from Westeros.”

Somehow, he made it sound silly and I giggled, feeling my unease start to recede.

As we arrived in the square Jaqen guided me through the stalls. I found the contents of every one of them exciting; the wares all different and exotic looking; some selling bold, ornate necklaces and jewelry; others delicate porcelain vessels. There was one which had gowns with eastern overtones to them, hanging from the walls; a high waist bodice with a looser fit, the long skirt with slashed sides from which an underskirt peeked. There was a dark green damask one with a paler green underskirt which caught my eye; I fingered the soft silks in pleasure.

The vendor came closer to us, looking in inquiry at Jaqen, who nodded. I became alarmed as the vendor took of the dress from its hanging spot and laid it on the table.

“No!” I said to Jaqen, clutching at his sleeve. “You have done enough for me, I couldn’t accept it.”

He frowned. “Why?”

I went to the vendor, hoping that he understood the common tongue.

“How much is it?”

When he told me the price I swallowed hard, but took out my pouch of gold and counting the coins, gave him two thirds of it. It was much lighter as I put it back in a pocket inside my cloak. The vendor rolled the dress and put it carefully in a cotton bag, looking sideways in unease at Jaqen.

He was standing next to me, his features hardened. I started to tense, knots tying themselves inside of me; this most uncomfortable feeling of always being at odds with others, never doing the right thing; would I always feel like this? I was getting overwhelmed, and orders or not, I couldn’t tolerate it.

I fled, running as fast as I could in the direction I had come in, hoping to find my way back to the house.

Moments after a strong hand grasped my arm, halting me in mid flight, turning me to face him. Jaqen was looking sternly at me. At the same time, I spied people who stood still, watching us with eyes glittering with curiosity; certainly thinking that this was a lover’s quarrel, hungry for more.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “How you must find me tiresome and difficult. But I cannot be more beholden to you. I have nothing. I am part of your household, you pay my keep and yet I’m neither your ward nor kin to you.”

“And the girl thinks that the man does this so he can ask for something else in exchange, yes?”

“I have learned that nothing comes free.”

My cheeks were starting to redden from embarrassment and I wanted nothing so much as not to look in these pale, knowing grey eyes. He sighed deeply, a look of regret straining his fine features. “A girl has grown mistrustful, for good reasons. This is the true loss of innocence. A man begs forgiveness. He thought to please you; not to put you in a binding situation.”

I inclined my head. “Thank you, although I think that no apologies were necessary. But I’ll accept them, as I fear that both of us being so courteous, we will not stop giving excuses to the other until sundown.”

His face cleared instantly and he laughed. “That is good, sweet girl. More ease. Give yourself some time to grow again into trust, to feel that this can be your new home. You were brought here to be with Arya. Nothing more is asked of you. A man will not take advantage of this situation.”

He bent down and kissed my hair. Standing on my toes, I put my arms around his neck and rested my cheek against his. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I heard cheers and happy clapping from the people who had watched us.

I’d never felt so happy.


End file.
